


Searching for Purpose

by VanityVoices



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Politics, Romance, Slow Burn, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:41:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 51,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24283006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanityVoices/pseuds/VanityVoices
Summary: Seeking new meaning in life, Jaime Lannister abandons his devotion to the Kingsguard and his sister in favor of a new path. Unfortunately, he has no idea what this path might be. Perhaps, a certain red-headed Stark could help him with that?
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Sansa Stark
Comments: 67
Kudos: 186





	1. Arrival in the North

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I’ve been wanting to do a GOT fic for a while and some other fantastic stories have inspired me to finally start writing! I’m also going to try and make this a solid slow-burn Jaime/Sansa story. I’m playing around with the ages a bit and there will be an explanation of why in the story itself, but for now, just imagine Ned and Catelyn being married earlier and they’re both closer to Tywin in age. Tywin has also been aged down so his children are slightly younger as well. Jaime will be 30 and Sansa 18 at the start of this story. Enjoy!

Jaime gazed into his reflection in the creek and closely scrutinized the image of him in donned in the armor of the Kingsguard. The tall Lannister form blessed with broad shoulders in the immaculately made plate mail made for an impressive figure. Years ago, Jaime would have instantly smiled at his visage being the stereotype for a dashing knight. Now the armor just served as a perfect reminder of the lie that Jaime’s life had become, no, the lie that it always has been. Even in his youth, Jaime never allowed a squire to care for his armor. Sure, he would allow a squire to help him put the armor on and off his person, but no one apart from the Kingslayer would clean his uniform. The Lannister imagined that he was renewing his oaths as a knight with every meticulous brush he made on his legendary armor. Every smudge he cleaned was supposed to be a reminder that no matter the mistakes he made; Jaime could still rediscover good intentions living beneath the sins.

Having just passed his 30th nameday a few months prior, the practice hasn't changed for Jaime Lannister. Only he would care for his armor; however, there was no longer any therapeutic recovery for his actions. Instead, Jaime felt a growing sense of dread as he removed the daily grime from the suit of mail. Tension would build in his stomach as the plates of armor were slowly added to his form. The once comforting weight the armor brought had been replaced with an oppressive reminder of his stolen freedoms. How long did it take Jaime Lannister to realize that he was miserable?

Jaime wished that is had been a sudden revelation; that he had woken up in a cold sweat one night determined to take his life back into his own hands. Unfortunately, it took years for Jaime to realize that almost everything he held dear in his life had taken him for granted. The Kingsguard was supposed to be the highest honor imaginable for a knight, but instead it was a prison. Jaime thought he had been chosen for his valor and strength with the sword, while in reality it was a move meant to slight his father. Jaime had spent his youth suffering the insanity of a tyrant and his early adulthood watching another king drink and whore. What hurt even worse than his meaningless oath to vile men was the ruin of his heart by the woman he loved before all others. How many times had Jaime dismissed or made excuses for the looks and touches he witnessed Cersei offer other men? If Jaime hadn’t walked in on his sister with that oaf Kettleblack, would he still be enthralled by her?

The Lannister knight once thought that his entire life would be dictated by his father; however, it seemed that every important person in his life had been orchestrating his fate. No more. Jaime promised to himself that he would take his life back into his own hands no matter the consequences. The Lannister didn’t yet know what life he wanted for himself, he had spent so long letting others do that for him that it would require some discovery. Yet, for the first time in years Jaime was excited to tread down a path he had never encountered, one of his own making. Jaime rose from his fixed position by the river and made to move back into the column travelling North. 

For the first time in years the weight of his armor didn’t bother Jaime, he knew it wouldn’t be there for much longer.

(-)

Sansa dutifully followed her mother through the vast hallways of her home. Catelyn Stark had a way of making every order seem a gentle reminder instead of the blatant command it actually represented. This ability was especially useful when seemingly half of King’s Landing had decided to visit Winterfell. Even though she has spent 18 years of her life within these walls, Sansa was convinced that she had never interacted with half the servants she encountered as her mother made her rounds throughout the castle.

Catelyn looked at her eldest daughter out of the corner of her eye, “Are you sure you haven’t seen her?”

Sansa fought the urge to roll her eyes as she responded, “Mother the last time you asked me was ten minutes ago. I’ve been with you since then. If you haven’t seen her than neither have I.”

“She had to pick today of all days to disappear?” Catelyn seemed to ask the Seven, as they narrowly dodged a group of men heaving kegs into the great dining hall.

The deep worry lines on her mothers’ face had never seemed so prominent, which prompted Sansa to reassure her “Arya knows how important today is. She may move at her own pace, but she’ll be there.” There was no way Arya would forget the arrival of the King and who knows how many knights. Sansa was sure her younger sister would want the best viewpoint to see them all arrive.

Catelyn took a deep breath, and nodded, likely coming to the same assumption as her daughter. The Stark matriarch turned towards her eldest and said, “You should head towards the courtyard yourself. The Stags and Lions will be upon us soon.”

Sansa returned her mother’s smile at the small jest and began moving towards the area where the Starks would meet the royals.

“Sansa?” Her mother’s voice stopped the redhead. Turning back with a questioning glance, Sansa saw a hint of exasperation and apprehension in her mother.

“Your necklace.” Catelyn began, as Sansa unconsciously palmed the beautiful golden necklace with an emerald centerpiece that was gifted to her by Lord Manderly for her 18th name day. “Don’t you think it’s a little too gaudy? Why don’t you try the silver brooch your aunt gave you.”

Catelyn didn’t even wait for a response from her polite command before continuing on her way. Sansa stared after her mother and redirected her course towards her own chambers. That is something she certainly wasn’t going to miss when she traveled to King’s Landing.   
A few years ago Sansa would have been tripping over her skirts to bend over backwards to follow every suggestion her mother made, but the constant high standard for propriety has begun to wane on the girl. Gods forbid she try a fashion that is different from the approved norms of Northern standards.

Sansa sighed as she entered her room and removed the relatively tame jewelry. Sometimes the inevitable journey to King’s Landing would leave her shaking with anxiety, but there were occasions where she welcomed the escape from Winterfell. Sansa loved her family dearly, but after eighteen years she needed a break from the Starks. Catelyn was as loving a mother as Sansa could ever hope for, but her passive aggressive manner of parenting is exhausting. 

Then there is Arya. With every year, Arya seemed to become more difficult. The younger Stark daughter defied every expectation of a noble woman. Sansa’s parents may have put up with it when she was younger, but they have begun bringing the hammer down now that Arya is at an age where she can marry. Every time the possibility of marriage is even mentioned in Arya’s presence, the young girl would start a screaming match and ultimately rope Sansa into the debate. It wasn’t her fault that her match required Sansa to wait longer than most noble women, yet Arya would see Sansa’s situation and call it unfair she could not wait as long.

Sansa entered the brisk courtyard and noticed the third primary reason for her desire to leave her place of birth. Theon Greyjoy. The eyes of that smirking prick seemed to follow her wherever she would go. Being of the same age, Sansa once thought of Theon as another brother, but puberty changed that opinion drastically. Sansa rolled her eyes at the gaze of the Iron Islander and made to stand next to her already waiting parents. It wasn’t long before the other Stark children, sans Arya and Jon Snow, completed the welcoming line. For weeks this courtyard has been a constant buzz of activity, yet the commotion halted as the distant noise of marching and galloping horses reached Winterfell. If it were not for the occasional snowflake, the sign of Summer beginning to end, one might think time had stopped within the castle. 

The standard bearers arrived first. Baratheon Stags and Lannisters Lions overran Winterfell in seconds and painted the grey castle in red, black, and gold. Sansa expected to see the royals and Westerlands in attendance, but the amount of Western sigils present seemed odd to the young girl. Why would so many Western families send representatives North? Of course, the Queen is a Lannister, but did her father’s bannerman always send along such a heavily enforced retinue? Sansa didn’t have time to further contemplate the abundance of Western sigils when her younger sister burst onto the scene and clumsily avoided the scolding of her mother. Sansa found Arya’s brash entrance suspicious, her sister had proven time and time again that she was able to sneak up on whomever she pleased. The elder daughter found her suspicions were confirmed when she noticed Torrhen Karstark silently joining Jon and Theon in the line further removed from the main Stark family. 

Sansa rolled her eyes, ‘My sister needs better companions.’

Knights followed shortly after the standard bearers. Two members of the Kingsguard led the column in their impressive armor, Sers Meryn Trant and Boros Blount, Sansa believed. Surprisingly the Crown Prince followed after the Kingsguard. Sansa found herself underwhelmed by the frail boy being jostled by the simple trotting of his horse. Beside Joffrey Baratheon was a far more curious subject, a beast of a man wearing a helmet in the shape of a snarling dog. 

‘Couldn’t ask for a better bodyguard’ Sansa mused as the Clegane knight begrudgingly helped the struggling prince off of his horse. 

The attention of the Stark heiress was taken from the giant silently cursing as the boy found himself caught in the stirrups, when a small group of Lannister knights entered the courtyard. Sansa would later admit that she had taken no notice of any of the men at the time, save for one. The man leading the Lannister knights was adorned in the priceless armor of the Kingsguard; however, he seemed to forego the notion of wearing a helmet. Sansa was incredibly thankful he had made that choice. Jaime Lannister was the perfect image of a noble knight that Sansa would fantasize attending to her every need. His emerald eyes shone immaculately and contrasted perfectly by his mane of golden hair. Sansa was so smitten with taking in the appearance of the man universally hated in the North, that she missed the arrival of a giant wheelhouse and a horse struggling under the immense weight of its king.

‘That is what a King should look like.’

(-)

Grim. Grim and desolate. These were the first impressions Jaime had of the North, and he found that they also applied quite well for the Starks. Although, there was a notable exception out of the miserable lot. Jaime looked at the eldest Stark girl and saw his boyhood impression of a beautiful noblewoman. The two sapphires acting as her eyes seemed to pierce right through him and their effect was only exaggerated by the flowing crown of fire atop her head. Before locking eyes with the girl, Jaime had noticed all of the Starks were adorned in some form of gray cloak, yet hers seemed softer somehow.

It was at this moment that Jaime realized that while the girl was giving him a look full of curiosity, the rest of her family certainly didn’t share her interest. The honorable prick Ned Stark barely glanced at the Lannister knight, but his brief glance was full of loathing. Catelyn Stark, ever the dutiful wife, shared her husbands’ loathing in her eyes, but added a touch of disapproval. Jaime glossed over the rest of the Stark pups, while stopping briefly to gaze at the red locks of the eldest daughter, but he also took note of the restless look in the younger daughter.

Jaime’s musing on the various Starks was cut short when his liege dismounted off of the much relieved horse and approached Lord Stark. There was an almost tense moment between the two men, before they reunited like long lost brothers and embraced. Robert moved down the line and Jaime did his best to hide his grimace as Robert laid slobbering kisses on the hands of Sansa and Catelyn Stark. It wasn’t long before Robert dismissed his Queen and disappeared into the crypts with Ned Stark. Cersei Lannister was once again publicly shamed by her husband in favor for a dead woman. Years ago that would have made Jaime want to kill Robert, he didn’t give a damn now.

Out of the corner of his eye Jaime saw his dear sister making her way towards him, and immediately turned to leave the courtyard that had somehow gotten icier with her presence. The Lannister twins haven’t had a conversation beyond a couple passing words in months, and Jaime planned on keeping it that way. Besides, Jaime already knew what his sister was going to ask- no demand, of him. Their little brother was supposed to have presented himself in the courtyard after the royal wheelhouse had arrived, yet Tyrion Lannister was nowhere to be found. Thankfully, Jaime had heard from some of the Lannister men-at-arms about a popular brothel in Wintertown, a small village down the road from the Northern capital.

The Kingslayer found himself walking downhill from Winterfell with two men quickening their stride to walk at his side.

“I don’t understand how these Northerners defied the Targaeryans for so long. You’d think that living in a place like this would make you desperate for warmth.” Lyle Crakehall muttered in his booming voice that turned every whisper into a declaration.

Jaime glanced to his left to observe the knight. Well to the left and upwards by a good margin. Lyle Crakehall, second son to Lord Roland Crakehall was likely one of the strongest men in the Seven Kingdoms. At first, Jaime didn’t care much for the Crakehall knight, for the slightly older man resembled a Robert Baratheon that never lost his edge. In time though the straightforwardness and fierce loyalty of Lyle won over the Lannister Kingsguard. If it were not for the beastly monsters from House Clegane, Lyle Crakehall might be one of the more famous knights of Westeros. This fact seemed to infuriate Lyle, better known as the Strongboar, and he’s made it somewhat of a personal endeavor to best the Clegane brothers. Jaime made sure to spar with the Strongboar regularly to ensure that his ambition didn’t get him killed and leave the Westerlands deprived of one of its’ finest warriors.

“You hit the nail on the head Crakehall.” Addam Marbrand confidently answered from Jaime’s right, “To survive in this frozen hell you need to be strong. There’s no place for weakness in the North.”

Ironically, Addam Marbrand could be considered the opposite of Lyle Crakehall. Where Lyle was a giant with broad shoulders, Addam was slim with a tall figure. Lyle had long locks of brown hair, while Addam had a short crop of blonde. Lyle thought with his sword, while Addam was more prone to use his brain. House Marbrand have always been staunch supporters of the Lannisters, and Addam was no different. Even Tywin Lannister noticed the loyalty and clever nature of Addam Marbrand and rewarded it by often naming him commander of their outrider divisions. Jaime grew up with Addam, and considered him one of his closest friends before being tricked into leaving the Rock for a hypocritical order of knights.

“Tell that to the Reeds.” Lyle snorted, as he brought up the typically smaller statured men just north of the Neck.

“Tell that to the Boltons.” Jaime chipped in and effectively ended the conversation. Nobody would dare consider the Boltons weak. Their house sigil advised people to not underestimate them.

They walked in silence for a few moments towards Wintertown, before Lyle began again, “I just don’t see much military potential in these lands. They can barely afford to make it through winter let alone fund a war.”

“You’re right.” Jaime answered, “You don’t see it, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there. The North is larger than most of the other kingdoms combined. There will be abundant natural resources in this land for a millennia. We’re lucky to be a coastal power. We outnumber the North three to one, and I’d wager that our men are better disciplined.”

“It’s hard to train an army that is so dispersed.” Addam agreed with the son of his liege lord.

Lyle smiled as he began again, “Not to mention their arms are shit compared to our own. Not even the Reach can supply men like we do.”

“Addam has a point though.” Jaime mentioned as he observed the working Northernmen they passed on their trek to Wintertown, “The typical Northerner would best the typical Westerner one on one. They know discomfort. It’s with them from birth. Our wealth and prosperity is as much of a disadvantage as an advantage.”

Addam smiled grimly at that thought, “I’d still prefer to have gold than muscle.”

Lyle appeared torn on his answer, but ultimately agreed with Jaime, “The typical Lannister soldier could be improved.”

Jaime smirked as a thought briefly crossed his mind, but filed it away for later as they were entering Wintertown proper. “Now where can I find my darling baby brother?” Jaime mused out loud as he tried to find a brothel out of all of the seemingly identical buildings.

“In Lannisport or King’s Landing you’d just look for the building with women wearing next to nothing outside.” Lyle remarked as they tried to pick out the right place.

Addam snorted and elbowed Jaime, “Second sons.”

Jaime smiled at his friend’s joke and wandered into the middle of the town. Their armor drew attention wherever they went, and soon after, glares. Thankfully, Jaime noticed a building where soldiers appeared to enter and exit frequently. The trio made their way in that direction and the growing smell of incense proved their assumption right.

A large man stood by the door and studied the knights as they approached. The bouncer seemed as if he were about to ask them for their weapons, but once he got a closer look at the Strongboar, he thought better of it. With the door held open for them, Jaime led his loyal bannerman into Wintertown’s famous whorehouse. Jaime looked around and scoffed at the incredibly bright colors and overwhelming smell of foreign spices. This was not the first time Jaime had sought out his younger brother in a brothel, which led to the Kingslayer having somewhat of a knowledge in these matters. In Jaime’s professional opinion: this place was like if someone tried to recreate what they were told a brothel is supposed to resemble.

Despite its’ cliche appearance, there were impressive stock on display. As soon as the knights entered a flock of scantily clad women approached them, which inspired a bizarre desire within Jaime.

‘Women.’ Jaime almost laughed. For the first time in sixteen years he was free of his absolute loyalty to Cersei. It goes to show how convincing her false pledges of love and devotion were, that his first thought of sleeping with another woman literally occurs within a brothel. Jaime eyed a tall buxom redhead in the back and contemplated the idea for a moment; however, he ultimately decided that his discovery of carnal pleasures outside of his immediate family would not occur in a Northern whorehouse.

“I’m looking for something exotic.” Jaime exclaimed jokingly, “He comes up to just over my knee and never knows when to stop talking.”

The tempting redhead offered him a dazzling smile, which good for her wasn’t missing any teeth, and pointed to a back room. Jaime didn’t immediately approach the room, instead he pulled out his coin pouch. Fishing out fifteen silver stags, Jaime offered five each to three of the waiting “hostesses”. Bidding that they follow him, Jaime walked to the indicated door and opened it with a wide grin.

“Do you know the meaning of a closer door in a whorehouse?” Tyrion, who was clearly occupied, asked his older brother.

Jaime could not help but smile at the antics of his brother and simply reminded him, “The feast is at sundown. Do not leave me alone with these people.”

The Kingslayer turned to leave as the waiting girls flowed into the room behind him. Addam Marbrand was at Jaime’s side once more, but the Lannister stopped once he noticed the absence of Lyle.

At Jaime’s raised eyebrow Addam remarked, “He said he’ll catch up with us later.”

Jaime chuckled and rolled his eyes, “Second sons indeed.”

(-)

Eddard Stark watched his childhood friend throw himself into a chair before Ned’s desk and try to catch his breath. It disturbed Ned how long it took Robert’s chest to stop heaving for air and finally settled enough for the King to speak without straining himself. Lord Stark looked forward to catching up with the oldest Baratheon brother; Ned was about to open his mouth to inquire after Renly and Stannis when the King cut him off.

“Lancel!” The King screamed for his squire, “Bring me one of those Northern ales they were rolling out!” A stumbling of feet was heard outside the door of Ned’s solar and Robert laughed uproariously at the sound.

Robert shook his head, “Such a stupid boy. Did you want one Ned?”

Ned thought about answering, ‘Robert I usually don’t drink right after lunch’, instead the ever dutiful Stark said, “No, thank you my King.”

The Lord of Westeros looked insulted by the response, “‘No thank you?’ ‘My King?’ First, you won’t have a drink with me, and now you insult me with honorifics and pleasantries?” Robert’s voice steadily grew louder as he questioned his oldest friend.

A moment of silence passed between the two of them, much like their initial meeting. Ned vanquished the silence by stating:

“Robert, you’re a drunk.”

The King looked at his Warden of the North and nearly fell over from laughing with him. During their fit, the door cautiously swung open and the thinnest Lannister Ned had ever seen apprehensively entered the room. Lancel held a tankard of ale so large that his arms seemed to shake under its weight. Robert took the tankard with a firm grasp, and Ned was relieved that even under all of that fat there was still the strength Robert exuded in their youth.

Robert wasted no time in taking a deep gulp of his ale and made his satisfaction clear with a lengthy sigh. 

“You can’t find this in the South.” Robert chuckled as he looked meanignly at his Northern brew, but the pleasure in his voice disappeared in an instant as he shouted once more at his squire, “Piss off boy! Go count your allowance in a corner somewhere I can’t see you.”

Lancel seemed relieved at the command and dutifully bowed before his King and Ned before exiting the room far more quickly than he entered.

Robert looked at Ned and shook his head, “I’m fucking surrounded Ned. I trip over Lannisters with every step. I swear they multiply when my back is turned.”

“Tywin would want his roost to grow.” Ned murmured, doing a poor job at containing his hate for the Old Lion.

“In more ways than you know.” Robert grumbled, as he avoided his friend’s eyes and focused on his drink. “You know why I’ve come Ned, I need you.”

Eddard Stark was concerned by the worry in his King’s voice, and he warily answered “I have six children Robert. You’re asking me to almost cut them out of my life entirely.”

“Without Jon Arryn I have no idea what to do.” Robert admitted in what was likely the closest he has ever come to begging. “I’m no good at ruling Ned. This should have gone to you or Jon, but I ended up on the throne. Support me now just as you did when we were younger. Your children aren’t that young, besides you could bring some with you.”

Ned sighed, Robert always had a way of convincing him of anything given enough time. Lord Stark had also been considering another matter since word came of Jon’s death and the King’s journey North.

“I suppose it would be good timing to wed Sansa to Prince Joffrey.”

Ned didn’t miss the widening and almost shameful look in Robert’s eyes as he brought up their old pact.

“What is it?” Ned inquired immediately “We’ve planned on uniting our houses for decades. What changed?”

“The fucking Lannisters!” Robert bellowed and rose from his chair. The King began to pace the room as he spoke, “We’re in for it bad Ned.”

“How bad?”

“Six million gold crowns in debt bad.”

Ned’s face paled at the thought, and sought answers “How could this have happened? How could Jon let this happen?”

“Ask that weasel Littlefinger!” Robert yelled and drained what remained of his tankard, “The Crown owes three million to Tywin Lannister and another three million to the Iron Bank.”

Although, still shocked at the enormity of the debt, Ned found himself able to ask, “What does this have to do with my daughters engagement?”

Robert’s anger began to fade and his apologetic look returned, “Ned I appreciate you waiting all these years for Joffrey to come of age. I know it’s a lot to ask a Lord to hold off on marrying his oldest daughter. But we need to lessen the control of the Lannisters. The only other family capable of rivaling the Lannisters in wealth are the Tyrells.”

“You’d trade a wolf for a flower?” Ned almost shouted in his anger.

“Winter is coming!” Robert screamed, invoking the Stark words as all hints of regret left his face when Ned raised his voice. “Would you have me borrow another million from Tywin Lannister to feed the Crownlands? The Reach will feed us all if we allow Margaery Tyrell to call herself a Queen.”

Ned slumped back in his chair. The Northern Lord was exasperated, but could see the logic in Robert’s plan.

“And how will Tywin Lannister react to this?”

“He’s also getting what he wants.” At Ned’s confused look Robert continued explaining, “He came to me months ago with an offer. The Lannisters will forgive a third of the debt if we release the Kingslayer from his vows.”

“You would put a price on oaths now!” Ned almost screamed.

Robert had no problem taking his voice even higher to respond, “When the price is a million golden crowns, yes!”

Both men stared at one another silently with rage filled eyes, but as with all brotherly squabbles, the two sat down once more and already began the path to forgiveness. 

“This is happening Ned.” Robert guaranteed, “You’re my Hand. Bring Sansa to King’s Landing. She’s your firstborn, she’ll have a legion of suitors in the capital.”

“I need to speak to my wife and children first.”

“You’ve spoken to your King.” Robert dismissed as he rose a final time to leave. “And I get what I want.”

(-)

Sansa didn’t think she had ever seen the great dining hall of Winterfell as full as it was at this moment. The feast had been in full swing for over an hour, yet nobody appeared ready to leave. At her position on one of the higher tables, second only to the royal couple and her parents, Sansa could look over the entire hall. Unsurprisingly, the men in attendance had divided themselves into different tables based on allegiance. Northernmen primarily occupied the hall, but there were a couple of tables full of only Lannister or Baratheon men. The Stark woman much preferred observing the many strangers who came to her home than conversing with the boy sitting beside her.

“Your home is beautiful Lady Sansa.” Joffrey Baratheon complimented in his gratingly high pitched squeal.

Sansa easily slipped on her mask of courtesy and replied “You’re too kind my Prince.”

The redhead almost rolled her eyes at how easily her comment seemed to appease the blonde Baratheon as he leaned back into his chair with another tall cup of wine. The boy was spectacularly unimpressive. His speech, form, and personality all left one wanting. Sansa once dreamed of her betrothed as a dashing hero who would make every moment he spent with her a paradise. Fortunately, reality hit Sansa long before she met the darling Prince, and she had time to school herself in hiding disappointment.

Sansa was brought out of her sullen state by the sound of a particularly rowdy laugh from down below. Once again, Sansa found herself staring at the King in disbelief. Instead of sitting at the highest spot reserved for him beside his wife, King Robert had his face in a serving girls bosom while being cheered on by his men of arms. Robert appeared to only take a break when he wanted another drink, but then dived right in for more.

The Stark daughter turned to view her Queen, and was impressed by the Lannisters’ ability to appear as if nothing was the matter. A horrible thought struck Sansa then, as she realized this could be regular behavior for the Baratheon King. Sansa gulped as she realized she could be following in the footsteps of the Queen.

Courtesies be damned, Sansa motioned for a servant to pour her a second tall glass of wine. If her mother tried to raise a stink about a grown woman having a second glass of wine at dinner, than Sansa would just inquire if the Starks had enough moon tea to stop Robert from siring a bastard on their dining hall floor.

Looking once more out into the great hall, Sansa found herself searching the primary table claimed by men from the Westernlands. Sitting at the head of the table, surrounded by his knights and little brother, was Ser Jaime Lannister. The Kingsguard had seemed so morose this morning, but he seemed to become an entirely different person when fraternizing with his brother and fellow knights. Sansa grew up watching her younger siblings interact, but she doubted she had ever seen smiles so full of love than the ones Jaime shared with his brother. The Stark girl wasn’t sure how long she had been staring, but eventually Jaime’s eyes found hers once more. Sansa was thrilled to see that the mirth in his eyes didn’t disappear when they met her own; she might dare to say that his amusement grew in that moment.

Jaime Lannister’s smirk turned into an unbelievably dashing smile, and Sansa felt her heart pound as he silently raised his drink in her direction. Feeling her face flush, Sansa burned to return the gesture, which led to her failing to notice the actions of her younger sister.

(-)

“Arya!” A voice full of disbelief screamed over the hall.

Jaime wasn’t laughing at the girl. Honestly, he was not laughing at the eldest Stark girl who was fleeing from the hall after her younger sister flung what appeared to be the chocolate cake directly at her face. No, Jaime was laughing at the audacity of the younger girl and the fire in her eyes as she struggled when her elder brother dragged her away.

“If only more Northerners were like that.” Jaime couldn’t help but state to his table, “These people are all so grim.”

Tyrion nodded sagely beside him while he polished off his fourth cup of wine for the night. Addam smirked in agreement as he clinked cups with the sons of his liege lord. Jaime doubted Lyle heard him at all over the sound of his own laughter that hadn’t diminished at all since the younger Stark girl launched her volley.

Jaime looked across the hall and frowned as his eyes found the king. Robert Baratheon was slumped over in a chair with a serving girl splayed across his lap. The Kingslayer was incredibly relieved that since the plan to excuse his vows had been approved, the king wanted nothing to do with the Lannister. Currently, it was Ser Meryn Trant’s duty to ensure Robert didn’t drown himself in alcohol.

Speaking of the king, Robert Baratheon let out a mighty belch that seemed to echo around the halls, and then shouted “Music! Give us a song!”

The Kingslayer groaned as a table of Stark soldiers broke into a dreadfully boring song about maintaining honor before all else.

“Their septas would be proud.” Tyrion joked as the Lannister table broke into rowdy laughter, which attracted several glares from the Northerners in attendance.

“Oh! The Lannisters think they can do better!” Robert interrupted the Northern ballad and challenged the houses loyal to his wife’s family, “Then give us one of your golden melodies!”

The Lannister men all seemed eager to acquiesce to their King’s demands, especially if it meant stopping the Northern drivel, but there was confusion over what song was to be chosen.

Ever the dutiful bannerman, Addam began to break out the Rains of Castamere, but Jaime was still sober enough to read a room and stop the attempt.

Jaime felt a tug at his sleeve and looked down to his fairly inebriated brother, “Come Jaime, you’ve always had the prettiest voice in the family!”

At Tyrion’s suggestion, several of the loyal Lannister men voiced their agreement and the spotlight turned to the Kingslayer. Jaime made a show of taking a deep swig of his drink to buy himself time to think of what song to begin. It needed to be something lively, something that would scandalize these prudish Northerners and give them a taste of what their precious honor denies them. At that moment, a wide grin spread across Jaime’s face as he recalled a song often heard from sailors in the bars and docks of Lannisport.

Jaime rose to his feet to the cheers and jeers of the hall, and began in his powerful voice:

What shall we do with a drunken sailor,  
What shall we do with a drunken sailor,  
What shall we do with a drunken sailor,   
Early in the morning?

As soon as Jaime began, the men from the West immediately picked up on his tune and were more than ready to join in for the chorus:

Weigh heigh and up she rises,  
Weigh heigh and up she rises,  
Weigh heigh and up she rises,  
Early in the morning?

Having begun the song, it was Jaime’s responsibility to sing the first verse:

Shave his belly with a rusty razor,  
Shave his belly with a rusty razor,  
Shave his belly with a rusty razor,  
Early in the morning!

The entire table of loyal Lannister men came back together for a powerful chanting of the chorus. Once the chorus was chorus was complete and the original refrain began once more, Jaime had to choose someone to sing the next original verse. Jaime made his decision known when he lifted his brother onto the table and gestured towards Tyrion to begin. The younger Lannister did not disappoint:

Put him in a bed with the captain’s daughter,  
Put him in a bed with the captain’s daughter,  
Put him in a bed with the captain’s daughter,  
Early in the morning!

Having understood the flow of the song and becoming quite enchanted with the joyous simplicity in its’ rendition, the Baratheons and even a large number of the Northerners lent their voices to the next chorus. Near the end of the refrain, all eyes were on Tyrion to see who he would choose to lead the next verse. The little Lord raised his hand and with a pointed finger signalled that Robb Stark would had the duty of continuing the sea shanty.

The heir to Eddard Stark had been happily following along with the song, but seemed bewildered at the prospect of improvising a new verse. Thankfully, Theon Greyjoy saved the Stark lad from embarrassment by quickly leaning in and whispering some advice. Just as the refrain ended, Robb stood from his seat:

Give ‘im a hair of the dog that bit him,  
Give ‘im a hair of the dog that bit him,  
Give ‘im a hair of the dog that bit him,  
Early in the morning!

The participation of the Stark heir encouraged the rest of the dining hall to join in and the jubilant chorus of the sea shanty could be heard throughout all of Winterfell. Jaime smiled at his success in getting the Northerners to abandon their solemn songs in favor for a more lively tune, and found that the attention of the hall had been taken off of him and placed on Theon Greyjoy as he prepared to take the next verse. In his slightly inebriated state, Jaime made the mistake of looking upon his sisters damned beautiful form and felt his mirth dissipate. Suddenly feeling an urge for some fresh air, Jaime carefully exited the crowd. The Kingslayer successfully reached the exit to the dining hall without his men or the Northerners noticing; however, he failed to notice a piercing set of blue eyes following him as he slipped out.

(-)

How. Dare. She.

For years Sansa had put up with the barbaric actions of her younger sister, but this was going too far. Arya wasn’t a child anymore; she should know better than to embarrass the Stark family in front of not only their King but their bannermen and the other great houses! After having thoroughly cleaning herself and selecting a new gown, with the help of Jeyne Poole, Sansa intended to return to the dining hall and having a few words with her sister. So blinded in her rage, Sansa didn’t realize that her parents would have surely removed Arya from the hall after the incident; however, this allowed Sansa to witness the singing prowess of a certain Lannister.

The young woman was momentarily stunned at the rowdy state of the great hall, something she had never before seen take place. Sansa found herself swelling with pride when Robb was able to join in on the fun and took great pleasure in seeing the scandalized look in her mothers’ face. Hiding in one of the many doorways of the hall, Sansa must have been one of the few, likely only sober, people to notice Jaime Lannister sneaking away from the festivities.

It may have been the elder Lannister brothers’ departure, or Theon’s crude suggestion towards the drunken sailor’s predicament, but Sansa found the mood in the hall to lessen. Feeling an urge to go for a walk herself, Sansa began to navigate the many winding hallways of Winterfell to emerge on its great walls. Now despite what some may say, the Starks do feel cold. Winter was still a ways away, but anyone walking along the top of Winterfell’s walls late at night would feel the sharp bite of the northern elements. While her heritage hadn’t given her immunity, Sansa had developed some resistance to the cold and the cloak she grabbed at the beginning of her stroll kept the worst of the chills at bay.

Breathing in the crisp air of the night, Sansa moved from torch to torch along the walls of her ancestral keep and happily brushed her hands along the wooden and stone fortifications looking over the land. There was a strange comfort in enjoying one’s home with nobody else around. Solitude may normally demand some introspection, but the familiar atmosphere of a cherished home drives away all anxiety and paranoia. These moments had become few and far in between for the eldest Stark child, and she would have avoided contact with anyone to allow them to last as long and possible. But she hadn’t planned for coming upon Jaime Lannister leaning against her home’s fortifications as he gazed at the night sky.

Sansa smiled as she realized the tune on the wind was his whistling of the shanty that now echoed throughout most of the castle. As she covered the distance between the two of them, Sansa thought desperately as to how she would greet the Kingslayer, but he saved her the trouble.

“I must admit, the endless plains of the North do allow for a wonderful view of the stars.”

“Do you often stargaze Ser?” Sansa questioned, before she could clamp her mouth shut.

Jaime tilted his head towards her without fully turning his body to face the Stark before responding “I haven’t had the occasion to in many years. King’s Landing at night is a maze full of thousands of torches that make the stars all the more harder to find. I haven’t enjoyed a sight of the sky this clear since I was a boy at Casterly Rock.”

“Oh?” Sansa mused, moving to stand beside the Lannister as she became engrossed in his confession, “Is a Lannister admitting that Casterly Rock and Winterfell are comparable in some way?”

That drew a short laugh out of Jaime, as he quickly corrected himself, “Not for all the gold in our mines. The view here is impressive, no doubt about that, but the Rock still has you beat.”

More interested in observing the Lannisters’ face than the night sky, Sansa prodded further, “How so?”

Not taking his eyes off the constellations, Jaime answered, “If you ever visit the Rock, insist on standing atop it. From that height all the torches of Lannisport couldn’t hide the stars. Better yet, the Rock overlooks the ocean and the stars are wonderfully reflected in the water. Some nights you can even hear the tide steadily enter and retreat as the stars gaze down from above.”

Forgetting the stats entirely, Sansa found herself far more interested in the surprising poet that was Jaime Lannister.

Finally breaking away from the night sky, Jaime turned to face the young woman and hit her with his customary smirk. “Good evening Lady Sansa.”

“Ser Jaime” Sansa returned with a small bow of her head. “If you don’t mind my asking, where did you learn that song that has taken over my home?”

Jaime smiled at her comment and readily replied “Sailors of course. Lannisport is one of the largest coastal cities in the Seven Kingdoms. You can’t walk down the street without hearing a recently docked crew drinking away their pay in a tavern.”

“Do you often encourage nobles to sing about drunken debauchery?” Sansa felt like a younger version of her mother when asking, but the redhead couldn’t help herself.

Jaime pointed at her vigorously and immediately answered, “That’s exactly why. You Starks are all so grim and righteous. The very thought of entertaining some self-indulgence over your precious honor is sacrilege. It must be exhausting, I feel tired just existing in the same vicinity as you lot.”

Sansa felt a surge of offense bubble up within her at that remark. Sure his critique matched exactly with her own feelings as of late, but only she was allowed to point out the faults within her family. 

Against her better judgement, Sansa attempted to throw the Kingslayer off his game by challenging him, “I suppose you best get used to Starks then, we’ll be your kin soon enough.”

The redhead felt a small measure of victory at the immediate widening of Jaime’s eyes, but it faded when she realized the response was not one of frustration but confusion.

“I don’t take your meaning.” Jaime honestly replied to the taunt.

Now it was Sansa’s turn to be puzzled, the man was a Kingsguard and uncle to her betrothed, how could he not know of the upcoming nuptials.

“The Prince and I…” Sansa awkwardly stated and watched Jaime’s face gradually turn from confusion to shock.

“Wait a moment.” Jaime began as he seemed to gather his thoughts, “Has nobody told you?”

Bewildered and more than a little concerned, Sansa replied “Told me what?”

Jaime seemed reluctant to be the bearer of this message, but continued nonetheless “The King has been making plans to secure a betrothal between Joffrey Baratheon and Margaery Tyrell.”

Time seemed to slow for Sansa as she processed the Kingslayer’s words. The silence and quiet contemplation on Sansa’s part must have appeared like devastation to the Lannister as he began to utter apologies; however, the Kingslayer ended his half hearted attempt at comfort when the Stark girl erupted into a fit of laughter. Sansa gleefully threw her arms in the air and even did a spin of celebration in front of the equally amused and confused Lannister knight.

“Dare I say it, but you actually appear to be relieved that you’re not going to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.” Jaime mused as Sansa’s celebration continued.

Realizing that repeatedly pumping her arms in the air in joy may be unladylike or seen as offensive to the Lannister, Sansa did her best to contain herself as she shakily replied through a series of giggles.

“Have you ever been forced onto one path for your entire life with no say in the matter whatsoever?”

Sansa had asked the question earnestly, but she was too thrilled with the cancellation of her betrothal that she didn’t observe the older man’s reaction. If she had, she would have seen Jaime’s face turn into one of absolute shock as he struggled to voice a reply. Feeling a sudden rush of energy fill her being, Sansa merrily continued her walk along the walls of her home.

“Goodnight Ser Jaime.” Sansa offered as she continued her stroll with a renewed vigor and a quite literal skip in her step.

That section of the wall was quiet long after she left, but in time a small voice was barely audible over the wind.

“Goodnight Sansa.”

(-)

“That poor fool is going to break an arm.” Addam mused as Harrion Karstark attempted to block another mighty blow from the Strongboar with his shield.

Jaime nodded in agreeance as he watched the “friendly” competition between the Northern and Southern warriors. Lyle had taken yesterday’s discussion of regional military prowess to heart and sought to inspire his fellow Westernmen by challenging as many Northerners as he could find. The eldest son of Lord Rickard Karstark was the fourth Northerner to foolishly accept the challenge of the giant Western knight.

It was early in the morning, yet quite a crowd had been drawn to the training grounds as Lyle Crakehall laid waste to his Northern foes. Jaime shook his head as Harrion let out a yelp of pain after barely blocking another strike from Lyle’s massive greatsword. The Western knight was famed for his foregoing of a shield in favor of a larger sword, which ironically gave him a fighting style more akin to Northern practices. Harrion had entered the bout equipped with a longsword and a shield, but had been forced to remain on the defensive the entire match. While only using practice weapons, the heavy swings Lyle delivered to the Northerner’s shield would surely leave a bruise if not more traumatic bludgeoning damage.

Trying to avoid one of his men maiming the heir to the cadet branch of House Stark, Jaime yelled “Finish this Crakehall!”

Inspired by the shouts of Jaime and the surrounding Lannister men, Lyle pushed forward with a fury. Harrion braced himself for another downward slash, but was unprepared for the Strongboar to switch his aim with a frightening speed. Lyle swiped Harrion’s feet out from under the man and kicked his longsword away. Before the Karstark could rise again, Lyle placed his blade on his neck and the crowd roared at his continued victory. Well, the Lannisters in attendance cheered his victory, while the Northerners jeered the Westerner.

Despite the glares of the Northerners, no other man moved forward to knock the Crakehall knight off his pedestal. Lyle was embraced by several Lannister men-at-arms that immediately began petitioning him for training. Jaime smiled at the knight’s success in invigorating their men, but was broken out of his musing by a strong Northern accent.

“That’s a good man you have there.” Ned stark remarked, suddenly appearing at Jaime’s side.

“One of the best.” Jaime replied, being able to hide his surprise with a practiced ease, “I hope you aren’t offended by our sport.”

Ned didn’t meet the Kingslayer’s eyes as he continued speaking, “Every man here is willing. Although, I’m surprised you haven’t partaken.”

Seeing an opportunity to satisfy a long time desire, Jaime immediately pondered “But who would be a fitting challenge for the Kingslayer? Perhaps the Warden of the North?”

“It wouldn’t do for a Kingsguard to be seen fighting the Warden of the North, even in sport.” Was all honorable Ned Stark offered in return.

‘More like the Warden in the North doesn’t want his men seeing him being repeatedly made to eat the dirt within his own castle.’ Jaime thought as he struggled to hide his disappointment.

“But perhaps you’ll be interested in fighting someone in my place?” Ned questioned with a hint of a smile on his normally stern face.

His interest piqued, Jaime inquired “And who would be your champion?”

“I believe the two of you fought together at the siege of Pyke.” Ned mentioned as he turned away from the fighting grounds. Jaime followed his gaze and set eyes on one of the few anointed knights of the North, as Lord Stark announced their arrival.

“Jory Cassel.”

(-)

“Nooooo!” Sansa heard Arya whine as Lyle Crakehall defeated yet another Northern warrior in Winterfell’s training yard. 

From their high vantage point on the walls of the castle, the Stark sisters were easily able to observe the melee that had taken the attention of most of Winterfell. Sansa had been instructed by her mother to retrieve her younger sister for a family breakfast, but the two had been sidetracked by the lively display. Normally Sansa would have no interest in observing the fighting men practice, but her interest in the Western knights compelled her to stay and indulge the insistence of her sister.

“Harrion is always too hesitant.” Arya remarked, as she offered the same level of criticism that an experienced castellan would, “He thinks that a shield wall will keep any danger at bay.”

Sansa didn’t have much to offer in return and simply replied “The Strongboar certainly proved him wrong.”

Arya had to begrudgingly agree that a Westerner got the better of one of her Northern champions, but she was quick to refute “Torrhen would’ve wiped the floor with him though!”

Sansa rolled her eyes and decided against engaging with her sister over the girls’ new crush. It was a badly kept secret that Arya was falling for one of Lord Karstark’s spare sons. If Torrhen had been the firstborn then all would have been fine, but a daughter of Ned Stark would never be married to a second son. Sansa gave her younger sister a rare look of pity, as the match would have been one of the few she would have accepted. The younger Stark girl began to drone on about the finer points of combat, which Sansa pretended to acknowledge, but the elder Stark was actually considering a new idea.

‘Perhaps,’ Sansa thought, ‘if I marry well enough… our parents won’t feel the need to pressure Arya into an advantageous match.’

A marriage to the next King could have secured that security for Arya, but that was no longer an option on the table. Sansa would just have to endeavor to find another eligible bachelor of the same value as royalty, which even sounded ridiculous in her head.

The redhead released a brief sigh, but found her eyes narrowing further as she noticed a familiar figure enter the training yard.

Sansa was about to point out the figure, but her sister beat her to it by stating “Is that Jory?”

“Will he challenge Ser Lyle?” Sansa was shocked at the thought. The men Lyle had bested were familiar to her, but none of them had been constant figures in her life as she had grown up. Jory was like another brother or a young uncle to the Stark girl.

“Jory is surely a match for the Strongboar!” Arya confidently boasted as she excitedly jumped on her heels.

A few moments passed and the girls watched Jory prepare two practice swords, but it was not Lyle Crakehall who entered the small arena. Sansa wasn’t able to withhold a gasp as Jaime Lannister easily caught the practice longsword thrown to him by Winterfell’s captain of the guard. 

“The Kingslayer versus Rory!” Arya exclaimed as she almost shook from anticipation. Sansa meant to reply, but the girl found her mouth suddenly as barren as the desserts of Dorne. 

A moment later the blunted steel began to flash in the training yard. 

Jory Cassel was an excellent knight and surely one of the finest men the North had to offer; however, even to Sansa’s untrained eye he was in over his head facing off against Jaime Lannister. Unlike the Strongboar, Jaime allowed his opponent to take the offensive and seemed to patiently measure their ability as he deflected their attacks. Jory ran himself ragged trying to get past the defenses of the Kingslayer, but the Lannister almost seemed to predict his movements. Apparently deciding to push back, Jaime parried a maneuver Jory had tried once before and nearly forced the Northern Knight to fall on his behind.

Sansa found some strange delight in watching Jaime surge forward as Jory’s footwork could barely keep up with the Kingsguard. A few more well placed swings saw Jaime breach Jory’s fumbling guard and disarm his opponent.

There was a cheer in the training yard as Jaime accepted his opponent’s surrender and offered a hand to help the man rise from the ground.

It was silent between the girls for a moment until Sansa found herself grinning happily and questioning, “Could Torrhen Karstark have done that?”

Once the commotion had died down in the courtyard, Sansa tore Arya away from the ramparts and the two travelled to the modest chamber the Stark family broke their fast together. Sansa hid a smug smile, as even though the Stark girls were late to the meeting, their father and brothers were later still. Between her husband and children, Catelyn didn’t seem to know where to aim her unapproving gaze. The Stark matriarch instead decided to aim her displeasure at Jon Snow, since today was one of the occasions where their father talked into joining the family for a meal.

Conversation revolved around the recent fights in the training yard and the impending journey South. Sansa was uncharacteristically quiet during breakfast, merely offering polite responses and making no attempt to actively engage with her family. The elder Stark daughter only spoke after Robb scooped little Rickon into his arms and left Sansa alone with her parents.

“Mother? Father?” Sansa cooly said aloud as she looked at her parents who were still focused on the last remnants of their meal.

“Yes, darling?” Ned inquired, although he didn’t take his eyes away from his breakfast.

“Did you plan on waiting until we arrived in King’s Landing to inform me that my betrothal had been broken?” Sansa’s innocent voice acquired; however, her eyes were full of ire.

Ned and Catelyn Stark both nearly dropped their cutlery as they stared shocked at their eldest daughter. The Lord and Lady pushed aside their plates, certainly having lost their appetite, and looked to one another almost nervously.

“Well-” Ned stammered as he looked to his wife for guidance on how to broach this unexpected subject.

Seeing her husband at a loss for words, Catelyn chimed in, “We intended on pulling you aside once the preparations for the journey South were complete.”

Seeing his wife regain her composure allowed Ned to find his and the Lord nodded at his wife’s words.

“Then I will still be going South?” Sansa asked, already knowing the answer.

“Of course.” Ned answered with a smile, believing his daughter was still hopelessly enamored with stories of chivalry and dashing knights. “I’m sorry that I can no longer make you Queen, but I will find you a husband that is honest and noble.”

Sansa had to allow ice into her heart to not falter at the genuine affection in her father’s voice, which gave her the strength to continue.

“So I will have my will and desire stripped from me again? I will be matched with a man even stranger to me?” Sansa shot off, managing to keep her voice from rising like a child.

Ned’s smile disappeared into a confused frown, as Catelyn immediately chastised her daughter, “That is the duty of a noble woman. You know this. Honestly, you’re beginning to sound like Arya.”

“No.” Sansa disagreed, “I sound like a sane woman. A woman who would like to know the man she would spend the rest of her life with.”

The solar was quiet for a moment. Sansa stared defiantly at her dumbstruck mother and disappointed father. Ned gave out a low sigh, as his disappointment was not rooted in his daughter’s actions, but his inability to give his little girl what she desired.

“Sansa.” The Stark patriarch’s gentle voice began, as he took his daughter’s small hands into his own calloused ones, “I can’t allow you to not marry.”

Beginning to break at the kindness in her father’s eyes, Sansa pleaded, “Then at least allow me to make the decision. Allow me to find my own husband who will be a proper match for the eldest Stark daughter and one that I know will not hurt or shame me.”

Tears began to descend Sansa’s face, as her father brought her into his arms and whispered gently into her ear, “You have my blessing sweet girl.”

(-)

Jaime breathed in the Northern air that he was unfortunately growing accustomed too, as he saw the banners of the King disappear from the castle. The honorable King Robert occasionally felt the need to prove his manhood by throwing spears at wild animals and having his men chase after the untouched creatures. The Lannister was spared the torture of accompanying the King this day; however, Jaime almost desired to go forth and weather the Kings’ droning if only to avoid the hellish boredom of the frozen Northern castle.

Lyle, Addam, and Tyrion decided to go on a ride through the countryside, so they were not present to amuse the Kingslayer. Jaime’s sister was a subject the elder Lannister brother wished to avoid entirely, which also ruled out their bastard children. As a member of the Kingsguard, Jaime couldn’t lower himself to challenging common soldiers to a practice fight. Finally, speaking to Northerners made Jaime want to rip out his golden hair.

Although there was one redheaded exception.

Sansa Stark. The young woman was surprisingly welcome company to Jaime. The Kingsugard didn’t know if it was her similar lack of control in life or her breathtaking beauty that was endearing a Stark of all people to one of the most famous Lannisters.

That’s why it took Jaime off guard when he looked up to see none other than Sansa Stark herself smiling at him from across the courtyard. Jaime was stunned at the cheerfulness in her face, but he managed to wave a hand in greeting a moment later. Although, as soon as Jaime’s hand raised, the smile was replaced by a confused brow. Jaime immediately put his hand down, worried that his casual gesture may have offended the noblewoman, but grew even more concerned as her confusion turned to terror as her hands quickly moved to stifle a scream.

Jaime didn’t have to guess the cause for her reactions, as a sickening thud rang throughout Winterfell as Bran Stark hit the ground a few dozen feet from where Jaime stood.


	2. Settling in the North

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I hope you’re ready for another chapter. I really enjoyed writing this and I hope it lives up to your expectations. I wanted to take a moment to talk about the last chapter. I feel like it’s almost customary that all first chapters of a GOT story must end with Bran’s fall. Hopefully, you all enjoyed my interpretation of that unfortunate moment. Also, I hope you’re enjoying the tone of this story so far! The first few chapters have a lot of exposition/set up, but there will be some major military conflicts throughout this story! My action/military side is as large as my hopeless romantic side, so prepare yourself for some combat in the future!
> 
> Now enough waiting, let’s begin!

Jaime struggled to maintain a neutral face, as he passively watched Ned Stark pace around his own study, while Rober Baratheon sat annoyed. The Lannister desperately wished that he could have been assigned any other time to be guard to his moronic king. Only two days ago, Jaime watched the Maester have the sickeningly twisted body of the Stark boy carried out of the courtyard. The Kingsguard rarely felt the need to pray, but that night he contemplated asking the Stranger to make the boy’s passing a quick one.

Surprisingly, little Bran Stark was still alive. “Past the point of immediate danger,” as their Maester Luwin had put it. The boy breathes, but only the Gods know if he will wake and he will certainly never walk again. Hopefully the boy had more of an interest in becoming a Maester than anything that would require an abundance of walking.

“You can’t expect me to leave now!” The shouting of Ned Stark brought Jaime out of his daydreaming. Jaime always wanted to see the normally stern Northern lord show some sign of distress, but this was in no way the wish fulfillment Jaime imagined.

Trying and failing to maintain his patience, Robert responded through gritted teeth, “Ned, I allowed us to postpone the journey back out of respect. You heard what your own healer said. The boy will live.”

“And you’d have him wake up to find half of his family has abandoned him!” A grieving Ned threw back at Robert.

Rising to pound on the desk, Robert yelled back “If he wakes up at all!”

Jaime thought that he might actually have to defend a king for once, as Ned Stark moved in on the Baratheon with a furious gaze, “That is my son!”

“And you have two others that bear your name and will grant you more heirs! That’s why they’re called spares!” Robert eagerly screamed back in the face of his old friend.

Not wanting to kill the Warden of the North a few months before his retirement from the Kingsguard, Jaime decided to step in at this moment, “Your Grace? Lord Stark? If I may?”

The heads of two of the most powerful men in Westeros swung around to attempt to kill Jaime Lannister with their eyes alone. Thankfully, Jaime was the son of Tywin Lannister, and had been on the receiving end of much icier glares.

Undeterred by their response, the Lanister continued, “Your Grace, it is understandable that one of Lord Stark’s first priorities is seeing to the safety of his family.” Seeing the fury build in Robert’s eyes, Jaime was quick to add, “And Lord Stark, as the Hand of the King you have a duty to the realm that you can only fulfill in King’s Landing.”

“Thank you for that wonderful summary of what has just transpired.” Ned coldly spat at the Kingslayer, “Is there anything else you’d like to add that isn’t obvious?”

Feeling his mouth move before his brain could catch up, Jaime proclaimed, “I may have a solution.”

Their curiosity piqued, and rage slightly abbated, Robert humored his guard, “And what would that be Lannister?”

“The King and his Hand have been away from the capital for far too long, and must return immediately; however, Lord Stark’s family may take more time to mourn this tragedy in their home.” Jaime carefully explained, which seemed to already begin placating the King, but Ned looked less convinced.

Pushing on, Jaime continued, “I volunteer to remain in the North with the majority of the Western banners until the Stark family feels ready to travel South. Our presence in the North will act as a signal that the King supports House Stark in this difficult time and allow for a greater guard to ensure the safety of the Starks travelling South.”

“And I’d rid myself of your golden mug.” Robert agreed, immediately liking the idea.

Ned looked astonished by the Kinglsayer’s offer, but couldn’t deny the reason within it; however, Ned couldn’t help but ask, “Why would you make this offer Lannister?”

Jaime wasn’t quite sure of the answer himself, but was able to muster, “It makes the most sense in this situation Lord Stark. My father sent an abundance of soldiers North, far too many than are needed to see to the King’s safety with his own retinue. My duty is to the King and the realm he serves. I’m only volunteering to do what must be done.”

Jaime thought Tyrion would be proud of that load of bullshit, but the wariness in Ned’s eyes hardly receded. 

Despite his still apparent distrust of the Lannister, Ned nodded his agreement after a few more minutes of thought.

“I must inform my family.” Ned muttered as he left Jaime alone with the currently drinking Robert.

‘What the fuck did I just do?’

(----------------------------------)

It’s a terrible thing for a child to realize the mortality of their family. Death is a concept that comes to a child fairly easily, but the implications of it take time to truly seep in. Sansa had been forced to confront this cruel reality twice within a few days. The first time being when she witnessed her poor little brother’s body plummet toward the ground. The eldest Stark daughter nearly vomited when she saw the unnaturally bent angle of his mangled legs and the way his head lolled back and forth as he was carried to Maester Luwin. The entire Stark family held their breath as their faithful Maester worked tirelessly to save Bran’s life. Sansa had finally allowed herself to breathe when it was revealed that Bran had survived the most dangerous period. Yet, gazing at her brother now, Sansa realized that their family would never quite be the same. Bran would never walk again, let alone climb, and there could not have been a more cruel fate for the boy who wanted nothing more than to become a knight.

Sansa’s glance at her mother confirmed the shattering of their family and the Stark girl’s second unfortunate realization of mortality. Catelyn, the steadfast and infuriatingly traditional matriarch of the Stark family, seemed broken. The Stark mother had not left her son’s bed, since Maester Luwin completed his life saving work. The wrinkles surrounding her mouth and eyes had never seemed more prominent to Sansa. The Stark daughter believed that if Bran died, then Catelyn might unconsciously perish alongside him.

Catelyn Stark’s hands worked tirelessly to make a prayer wheel in the vain hope that the Gods would protect her son and allow him to wake. Sansa had thought about making one alongside her mother, but every attempt the daughter made to converse with her mother was only met with silence. Unable to stand the heavy atmosphere of grief and uncertainty, Sansa almost yelped when the door to Bran’s room swung open.

Ned Stark slowly strode in, still not used to seeing his boy so still, but gladly accepted his daughter’s desperate hug. Lord Stark looked into his daughter's eyes, his own full of fear, while desperately trying to convey a sense of reassurance.

“Anything?” Ned softly asked, as he gazed over at his distraught wife and paralyzed son.

Knowing that his question went beyond just Bran’s health, Sansa regrettably shook her head.

The fear threatened to engulf Ned’s eyes, but the comforting gaze of her father returned and he nodded with a small kiss placed on her forehead.

“Cat.” Ned began as he knelt down beside his wife’s sitting position and took his son’s small hand into his own larger ones.

The Stark matriarch was initially silent to her husband’s call, but with her eyes fixated on the half complete prayer wheel, she ground out, “Have you come to take the rest of my children from me?”

Sansa almost whimpered at the venom in her mother’s voice that she had never before been witness too.

Ned weathered his wife’s accusation and explained, “The King will allow Sansa and Arya to remain in Winterfell until our family has recovered. I will travel south with the King and perform my duties as Hand.”

Catelyn’s hands stopped their frantic work on the prayer wheel and the mother of five looked through her husband. 

“You’d have your family recover while you abandon it?” 

Sansa couldn’t bear witnessing the anguish shared by her parents, the two immortal figures supposed to be her stalwart guardians. At the threat of tears falling, Sansa slipped out of the room as her silent father embraced a broken Catelyn.

(------------)

“So let me get this straight.” Tyrion began, as he walked along the King’s procession preparing to depart Winterfell with his older brother. “You, out of your own volition with no prompting from an outside party, have elected to remain in Winterfell? Not only did you volunteer to remain in a place you called ‘A frozen hellscape,’ but you’re doing this to ease the suffering of the Stark family?”

“When you put it that way I almost sound selfless.” Jaime mused as he observed the chaotic preparations of his King’s servants. It had been two days since he had made his proposal to the Baratheon King and Warden of the North. Immediately after his proposal had been accepted, the King spared no time in announcing his soon departure. There were some groans from his soldiers about the extended visit to the North, but Jaime’s promise of them being paid for their time silenced all objections.

Jaime had only come across Lord Stark once since that tense moment in his solar. There were no words spoken between the two, but Ned had given Jaime a nod that was lacking his usual revulsion. The Lannister was actually quite taken aback by the look Ned had given him with that simple nod. Could the honorable Ned Stark be grateful to the insufferable Kingslayer?

Regardless, Jaime was broken from his contemplation when he felt Tyrion’s hands on his belt. Looking down, the Lannister knight saw his younger brother trying to unfasten the various pouches attached to his person.

Amused, Jaime quipped, “Something I can help you find brother?”

“Your coin pouch.” Tyrion simply explained, “I need to count your gold. It’s the only way to ensure that you’re still a Lannister.”

Jaime chuckled at the antics of his brother and gently slapped away the searching hands. Tyrion shook his head, but then continued prodding, “What made you decide to do such a charitable act?”

“Honestly, I’ve no idea.” Jaime earnestly replied, “The answer seemed to emerge from me before I knew it myself.”

Tyiron looked at his brother with wonder as they walked, and muttered, “You’ve changed Jaime.” Seeing the inquiring and slightly hurt look on his older brother’s face, Tyrion was quick to continue, “For the better of course. While I don’t understand your motivations, and you may not yourself, you have been acting more noble as of late.”

Unsure how to accept the praise, Jaime looked beyond his brother’s small form at the group heading towards the Wall. Tyrion was bringing two well paid Lannister men with him that Jaime had ensured were competent enough. What was more interesting were Ned Stark’s younger brother and his bastard son. The famous First Ranger, Benjen Stark, shared his brother’s long face and stern gaze; however, there was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes as he interacted with his nephew. Watching the bastard, Jon Snow, prepare his horse gave Jaime an unexpected feeling of nostalgia. The Lannister was uncertain where it came from, as his only interactions with the young man were when he noticed him sulking around the halls of Winterfell.

Pushing apart needless thoughts of the Stark bastard, Jaime was satisfied that Tyrion would be relatively safe on his adventure. Using the smile he only shared with his younger brother, Jaime looked towards Tyrion and said, “You best hurry back after you piss off the edge of the world. I’ll need your help to run the Rock.”

Sharing in his brother’s smile, Tyrion happily replied, “I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.”

Seeing the joy within Tyrion’s mismatched eyes brought Jaime back to their youth at the Rock. Remembering the countless nights where he consoled a wailing Tyrion, Jaime’s smile lost its’ mirth as he carefully asked something of his brother.

“You’re not upset with me, truly?”

Immediately confused and with a furrowed brow, Tyrion inquired “Why would I be upset with you?”

Jaime let out a breath sigh and explained, “Father hated the idea, but the Rock was yours to inherit. Rulership of the Westerlands has been promised to you for almost two decades. Are you not upset to see it go?”

Silence enveloped the two as Tyrion thought on his answer, before the younger brother replied, “Perhaps if Father had another son to take the title. Or if Father had given it to one of our cousins. But how could I claim that you have taken something from me, when you have given me everything, dear brother?”

Despite the guilty voice in the back of his head reminding him of his role in Tyrion’s first marriage, Jaime nodded at his brothers words with a more relieved visage.

“Besides,” Tyrion began, “I’ve always seen myself as the puppeteer waiting in the shadows and controlling the figurehead from afar.”

“We’ll need to give you a stool if you decide to make me dangle upon your strings.” Jaime joked and shared a much needed laugh with his brother.

“That is something I’ve been thinking about recently.” Tyrion pondered out loud, while ensuring they were still far enough away from the others to not be heard, “Why did father never remarry? The man cares for nothing except his legacy, yet he’s been content to stand aside and watch his few heirs continually disappoint him.”

Jaime grinned, “You may be one of the few people who thinks there needs to be more Lannisters.”

“I might have someone apart from you to talk to if that were the case.” Tyrion jested and continued, “But, really, don’t you think it’s strange?”

Jaime shook his head and looked to the open sky of the North, “For all his many faults, Father could never imagine betraying his wife’s memory.”

Tyrion thought about how he would reply to his brother’s rare show of praise for their Father, but he did not have the chance as Benjen Stark yelled to the duo, “We’re setting off Lannister! Come along if you don’t wish to be left behind.”

On instinct Tyrion turned towards the already kneeling Jaime and the brothers shared a quick embrace. Curled around his brother’s smaller form, Jaime muttered one last thing before his departure:

“Don’t be away long brother. It might just be the cold, but something feels off in this land.”

(-------------------)

Sansa took a deep breath as she stood at the head of the Stark procession within the courtyard of Winterfell. Catelyn still refused to leave Bran’s side, so the duty fell to Sansa to act as the Lady of the house, which also meant that it was her duty to officially see off the visiting parties. Robb stood beside her with a tired Rickon in his arms, as the trio of Starks waited for the royals and their father to depart.

“She wouldn’t let Father leave without saying goodbye, right?” Robb asked his sister as he gently rocked his younger brother who was valiantly fighting the urge to sleep.

Not taking her eyes off of the closed doors of the Great Hall, where their father and the royal couple would soon emerge from, Sansa answered, “I’m sure she would seek him out. Arya wouldn’t forgive herself is she thought that she disappointed or upset Father.”

A few moments passed in silence, as a fresh powdering of snowflakes fell and melted into the grey cloaks that adorned the Starks. Robb shifted his footing and grip on Rickon, while he muttered, “I don’t like this Sansa. Our family has only suffered since their arrival.”

“Robb,” Sansa warned, “the King has asked Father to serve as his Hand. The Warden of the North will not only command the largest of the Seven Kingdoms, but he will officially be the second most powerful person in Westeros.”

“At what cost?” Robb asked not wanting to see the logic within his sister’s explanation.

Growing frustrated with her younger brother, Sansa snapped, “This is the duty of being a noble. We sacrifice so that the people who put their faith in us may benefit.” That at least seemed to make Robb reconsider his complaints, which prompted Sansa to push further, “Besides, this will allow our family to grow closer to the other powers of Westeros.”

Robb scoffed at her second point, and made his displeasure evident once more by stating, “Yes, and we’ll perpetually open our home to the glorious Lannisters and their gold enameled pricks.”

The Stark heir found his sisters’ eyes on him for the first time in their conversation, and nearly gulped at the hostile intent within her piercing eyes. In a cold tone that was a combination of their Mother’s disapproving attitude and the savagery of the North, Sansa reprimanded her brother by stating, “Ser Jaime volunteered to delay his trip by months as a personal favor to our family, while we recover from a tragedy. Not only has he done us this favor, while expecting nothing in return, but their patronage in the North has introduced more gold than the common people have seen in decades.”

Unable to refute the wisdom in his sister’s words, Robb settled for grumbling under his breath. Sansa looked at the rapidly developing beard on her brother’s visage and sighed at the stubbornness that seemed to stop all Starks from accepting reason. Leaning into her brother’s form, it didn’t take long for Robb to also shift his weight towards his older sister. Holding a now sleeping Rickon between the two of them and sharing warmth in the slowly falling snow, the Stark siblings allowed one of their frequent silent reconciliations to pass.

“Do you remember the moral of every story that Father would tell us and Jon when we were young?” Sansa asked, as she thought back to their time as toddlers with their half brother.

“Aye.” Robb answered with a hint of a forlorn smile, as he recalled seeing Jon off a few hours earlier. “The lone wolf dies…”

“But the pack survives.” Sansa finished without hesitating. Pulling apart for a moment, Sansa looked into the blue Tully eyes of her brother that she shared, and added, “We won’t let Father stay alone in King’s Landing for long. Arya and I will care for him, as much as he will care for us.”

Gently squeezing her brother’s hand, Sansa continued, “Mother may never fully recover from this, Robb. Bran and Rickon will depend on you to ensure that the pack remains intact in Winterfell.”

Clearly emboldened by his sister’s words, Robb strengthen his grip on Sansa’s hand and promised, “I will never let our family fall.”

Giving a full smile at her brother’s confidence, Sansa was about to continue, but the doors to the hall slammed open.

“Pick up the fucking pace!” King Robert Baratheon commanded as his frail Lannister squire scrambled out of the Great Hall towards the stables where an unfortunate horse would bear the King’s mighty form on the return trip to King’s Landing.

Taking a deep breath to steady the flurry of nerves that arose within her at the King’s bellowing voice, Sansa prepared herself to act the part of a noble woman. Sending a grateful smile towards the approaching King, Sansa curtsied as he approached and held out her hands. Inwardly groaning, Sansa allowed the fat King to lay another slobbering kiss on her hands.

“Don’t dally too long in the North.” Robert advised as his face reddened under the exertion of walking across the courtyard, “King’s Landing is where you’ll find a man to sweep you off your feet.”

“You’re too kind, Your Grace.” Sansa managed to keep her voice steady in replying, as she silently cursed her mother’s absence.

Robert moved from Sansa to bestow some perverted wisdom to her brother, but she was too preoccupied with the approach of Cersei Lannister. The Lioness seemed to be the polar opposite of her husband. The long blonde locks that were intricately tied into a Southern style allowed her captivating face and neck to be exposed to the Northern air in a noble manner that surely defines beauty.

This time, Sansa strived to make her appreciation apparent in her curtsy, and she was rewarded with a dazzling smile from the Queen. Happily extending her arms this time, Sansa was delighted when Cersei warmly accepted them and placed a light kiss on her cheek.

“We’ll meet again soon, Little Dove.” Cersei promised as Sansa shared her delighted smile.

The Lioness gave a brief smile to Robb that surely made his heart skip a beat, but Sansa’s joy vanished as she saw the solemn figure of her father approaching his children. Eddard walked with his usual sense of purpose, but there was clearly a burden on his shoulders that was evident in his forlorn smile.

Thankfully, the Royals had left the courtyard, which allowed Sansa to throw herself into the arms of her father. Ned held his first born with a tight grip and both came close to shedding a few tears. First allowing themselves a moment of silence, Sansa reluctantly left her father’s arms and wiped away a traitorous tear.

“We’ll be reunited soon.” Ned Stark promised his eldest daughter with that voice so full of love only parents have the privilege to use with their children.

Sansa nodded at her father’s promise and spoke without thinking, “Mother may not understand, but I do.”

Ned was taken aback by his daughter’s brazenness, but managed to compose himself and offer her a soft smile. Sansa watched as he moved to give his goodbye to Robb and the sleeping from of her youngest brother. Sansa almost felt a new wave of tears to sneak by, as she prayed that Rickon would have memories of their Father in these precious moments of childhood.

As if she were within a dream, Sansa watched her Father leave the large wooden gates of Winterfell. With her brothers, Sansa ascended to the walls of Winterfell and gazed at the royal retinue just about to depart. Not allowing herself to cry, Sansa instead had a firm grip on the railing before her as she watched her Father slowly disappear from view.

On the other side of the wall, Jaime Lannister found himself breathing a deep sigh of relief as that damned red wheelhouse rolled out of sight.

(------------------)

‘I hope non-believers aren’t cursed or made impotent for taking a gander here.’ Jaime thought to himself, as he entered Winterfell’s famous Godswood. There were only a few Godswood South of the Neck, so the Lannister Knight had not had many opportunities to examine the famed trees.

Taken aback by the lush forest of white and red, Jaime allowed himself to wander in a slow pace towards the center of the woods. The vibrant, almost porcelain, white trees blended in perfectly with the slow fall of snow only for the crimson leaves to make it seem that the forest was bleeding out. Jaime noticed one of the famed faces of the Godswood staring at him from a solitary tree apart from the rest of the grove. The knight knelt before the Weirwood and nearly gasped as the face frozen in concentrated observation began to weep blood. It took Jaime a second to remind himself that the red liquid was merely sap.

Still, the Lannister was unable to take his eyes off of the crimson sap and recalled the boy from the Kingswood Brotherhood he beheaded. Jaime never saw where the head landed, but he’ll never forget the vivid spray of gore that spurted out of the neck.

“Damn it all!” A high pitched feminine voice screamed through the Godswood.

Jaime stood up suddenly and found himself slightly lightheaded from rising swiftly from the deep crouch. A string of curses followed the initial outburst and Jaime found himself silently moving towards the source of profanity. Creeping along and taking cover from tree to tree, Jaime thanked the Seven he didn’t believe in that he had decided to take off his armor after seeing off the royal precession. Moving closer and closer to the upset party, Jaime hid behind a large Weirwood beside a small pond and carefully inclined his head towards the sound.

Immediately placing a hand over his mouth, Jaime was barely able to stop himself from letting out a side splitting laugh. The youngest Stark daughter, Arya if Jaime remembered correctly, was fumbling around a clearing with a thin blade. Despite her weapon looking more like a rapier or a sabre, the girl was hacking the air with it as if she intended on chopping wood. Jaime thought about leaving the girl alone to work out her anger on imaginary foes, but the Lannister saw the anger in her eyes and was reminded of himself at that age. Knowing what it was like to treat frustration with swordplay, Jaime composed himself and announced his presence.

“I don’t know who you’re fighting, but they should’ve killed you a dozen times by now.” Jaime quipped, as he left his hiding spot and began to approach the younger Stark girl.

Insulted by his jape and the signature smug Lannister grin, Arya snarled back, “What are you doing here, Kingslayer?”

“My time at Winterfell has been extended considerably.” Jaime began, as he got a closer look at the certainly castle-forged steel held by the girl. “I’ve been bored with the barren Northern countryside and needed a change of scenery.”

Further insulted by his mockery of her homeland, Arya pointed the tip of her blade at the older man and yelled, “Then why don’t you find it in the South!”

‘Gods do I hope I will soon’ Jaime inwardly groaned as he casually walked past the girl and looked at his reflection within the small pond. Still seething with rage, Arya kept her eyes on the Southern man and blade drawn.

“Why do you fight?” Jaime asked without looking up from the water.

Although she was taken off guard by the question, Arya was quick to confidently answer, “I need to grow stronger to protect my family!”

There was silence between the two for a moment, but it was broken by a few deep chuckles coming from Jaime Lannister. Immediately viewing his amusement as further mockery, Arya stomped over to the knight and gave him a push full of hate that unfortunately had no effect on the full grown man. 

Happy that she chose to make her frustration known with her hands and not her blade, Jaime explained the reason for his snickering, “Maybe the Lannisters and Starks aren’t so different after all.”

Not following his explanation at all and staring at the golden bastard in bewilderment, Arya responded, “What are you on about?”

Ignoring that reply, Jaime stood and observed the girls’ form with the trained eye of a burgeoning master of combat.

“Hold out your sword arm.” Jaime commanded of the sixteen year old girl.

Taken even further aback, Arya could only answer, “What?”

“Hold out your sword arm.” Jaime demanded once more with a bit of ice in his tone.

Not used to foreign adults taking such a stern tone with her, Arya hesitantly held out her right arm that was gripping the sword. Even with the thin blade, the Stark girl was barely able to keep her arm straight out from her body and it began to shake after several seconds.

Nodding at the display, Jaime rested a hand on her wrist and gently pressed it down, while saying, “As I thought. You’re a long way from becoming a savant.”

“I’m just starting!” Aray countered back with a furrowed brow.

“And you’re going about it the wrong way.” Jaime answered, as he used a far more gentle voice and began to circle the girl. “You’re fighting as if you’re holding a war axe and are covered in plate mail. I’m sorry to say it, but I doubt you’ll ever be fit for that fighting style.”

Arya was still frustrated with the Lannister, but this was the first time anyone had indulged her interest in warfare. Yes, her brothers had humored her a few times in the past, but she had never been given real advice on how to engage in combat.

Unable to resist, Arya asked, “Why not?”

“You’re scrawny.” Jaime bluntly put, as he lightly smacked her ribs with a long branch he had picked up from the ground. “You’ll grow, but I doubt that you’ll develop enough muscle mass to make full use of a two handed weapon or equip yourself with a full suit of armor. If you did, you’d likely wear yourself out in a few moments and become an easy target.”

Arya tried to sway away his several quick smacks with the branch, but found herself following along with his advice, “Then how am I supposed to fight?”

“Quite simple, really.” Jaime surmised, “Don’t let them hit you.” The Lannister happily cemented his point as he whacked Arya a few more times.

Arya frowned, as she continued trying to dodge or block his swipes, “Not even with a shield?”

“Shields are heavy.” Jaime advised, “Even I tire of lugging one around for a long period of time. That’s why I normally forego a shield in favor for holding my sword with two hands or having a small knife in my off hand. Honestly, even if you could deflect a blow with the shield, the trauma would likely break your arm.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” Arya almost pouted, as the last swipe actually stung a little.

“What I said.” Jaime was growing fond of his tutorial, as he thought back to all of his cruel tutors over the years, “You’re almost as thin as this branch. You should be able to dodge most blows if you stay nimble.”

Deciding that she’d had enough, Jaime threw his branch across the clearing and gestured for her sword. Reluctantly, Arya allowed the knight to hold her sword and closely watched him as he analyzed the blade.

“Well made.” Jaime noted, as he tested its’ balance, “Does it have a name?”

“Needle.” Arya replied without hesitation.

Jaime laughed at that, “Fitting. Now, the first rule of sword fighting is to not get hit. Want to guess what the second one is?”

Arya thought for a moment before showing a small grin and answering, “Stick them with the pointy end.”

The Lannister looked at the girl and quickly shared her grin with one of his own, “You’ll be a master of the basics in no time.”

(--------------)

Sansa stood uncomfortably wringing her hands as she thought about her next move. The elder Stark daughter had seen Ser Jaime through a window walking from the courtyard into one of the many halls of Winterfell, so she positioned herself in a hallway that he would undoubtedly come through. Initially, the redhead planned on approaching the Lannister with an entirely different offer, but an earlier occurrence changed her plans.

When Sansa was approaching the Godswood for some sort of guidance after seeing off her Father, she witnessed Jaime Lannister instructing her little sister on how to properly hold a sword. Jaime Lannister, a Kingsguard, decided to teach Arya Stark, the most impetuous Lady of the North, how to fight. Sansa really did not want to have this conversation, but she knew that his instruction would only bolster her sister’s unacceptable attitude. The young woman wished that it was her mother that was in this position, but Sansa had accepted the role of Lady Stark and all the tedious responsibilities that come with it.

The Stark girl wasn’t able to further ponder her unfavorable situation when she heard a pair of boots approaching her position in the hallway. The Lannister knight turned the corner and gave a respectful nod to the young woman, but it was the disarming smile that had Sansa frozen in place as he walked past her.

Trying to speak was difficult when your mouth is suddenly barren, but Sansa managed to say, “Lord Lannister? Did you give my sister combat lessons?”

Jaime paused for a moment and then turned, while aiming that damned smile at the Stark before saying, “Do you have the right Lannister? Are you sure it wasn’t my brother?”

His jokes were only making this process more painful for Sansa, so she continued, “Ser Jaime, it’s not becoming for a lady to play with swords.”

Jaime laughed at her explanation and responded, “Not becoming? I’ve been given that excuse all my life, and let me tell you, it just makes you more likely to act out.”

Sansa was stunned at his simple answer, but didn’t have a chance to retort when he carried on, “Your sister seems like a very willful girl. Reminds me of my own sister honestly.” His smirk faltered for a moment, but Jaime quickly recovered, “She’s going to play with swords no matter what. Won’t you feel better knowing that she’s at least going about it the right way and not going to hurt herself?”

Seeing that she had no immediate reply as she digested his answer, Jaime was about to turn away from the girl when she suddenly informed him, “You’re invited to dinner.”

“Just the two of us?” Jaime thought aloud with that signature grin, even though he knew it was false, “I’ll have to find my best doublet.”

With a face as red as her hair, Sansa was quick to stammer out, “No! My siblings and Theon Greyjoy will also be present!”

“Well, that’s a shame.” Jaime muttered, as he truly enjoyed watching the Stark girl’s eyes widen and mouth open in shock. Saving her from coming up with a coherent reply, Jaime sauntered away and yelled back over his shoulder, “I’ll see you at dinner, Lady Sansa.”

(---------------)

Jaime had just sat down at the table when a servant placed a platter of honeyed chicken, vegetable stew, and freshly baked bread. The North knew next to nothing about plating food, but the Lannister had to admit that the smell wafting off of the meal was mouthwatering. Feeling a small grumble within his stomach, Jaime longed to dig into the meal, but his manners prevailed and he waited for the others to comfortably sit themselves at the table.

The company made the knight feel dreadfully out of place, but he wouldn’t let that show of course. They were at a humble dining table with seven seats that provided fantastic support to the back. To Jaime’s left was Maester Luwin, the old maester that seemed surprisingly mobile for his age. Jaime did take note of the surprising number of links within his chain that signified Winterfell was lucky to enjoy his expertise.

Across from Jaime, sat two of the Stark siblings and their Greyjoy ward. Theon was positioned directly across from Jaime and had flashed him a crooked grin that did nothing to hide his animosity. Next to the Greyjoy was the youngest Stark, Rickon, a boy of six that needed a cushion in his seat to sit properly at the table. The boy was already nibbling at a piece of bread, as he stared at the golden Lannister in wonder. Unable to help himself, Jaime sent a genuinely kind smile to the child and was rewarded with a toothy grin that had several missing baby teeth. Ending the line on the opposite side of the table was Arya Stark, who still referred to Jaime as “Kingslayer,” but the nickname had lost some of its’ venom since their time in the Godswood.

At the head of either side of the table were the acting Lord and Lady Stark, Robb and Sansa. Jaime was thrilled beyond measure that he had chosen the seat that put him next to the young woman and not the green boy with an adorable mustache. Next to him was a dream come true. Well perhaps not that incredible, but the Stark girl really did look breathtaking. Sansa had changed from a neutral gray dress into a vibrant shade of blue that contrasted wonderfully with her red hair and elegant emerald necklace. The redhead had tried not to meet Jaime’s eyes as they met in the dining room, but she had blushed slightly when she saw that he had changed into a fetching red doublet.

“Shall we begin?” Maester Luwin announced with a kind smile, as everyone took their seats.

With his Maester’s prompting, Robb took the cue to fulfill his duty and nodded, “Please, everyone enjoy.”

Grateful for the invitation, Jaime wasted no time in putting his utensils to use. There was a slightly awkward silence at the beginning of the meal, with none of the Stark children having been used to dining with such esteemed guests.

Luwin was able to navigate the situation by asking, “Do you find yourself enjoying the Northern food, Ser Jaime?”

Giving himself a moment to swallow, Jaime answered, “It’s more agreeable than I originally thought.”

Robb suppressed a snort and added, “Not rich enough?”

Theon and Arya laughed at the joke, which Jaime diminished by going along with it and laughing himself. The Lannister took a moment to sip his wine before answering, “I couldn’t imagine a better meal to help me survive your frigid nights.”

The interaction seemed to ease the rest of the table and the siblings soon broke out into their normal behavior. Robb, Arya, or Theon would confidently state something and Rickon would happily agree with them until someone opposed them and Rickon would become a turncoat in an instant. Robb and Theon bragged about their sparring earlier that day with Arya promising that she would defeat them both one day.

It was surreal for Jaime to witness how a normal family behaves at dinner. From his childhood all he could remember were cold dinners where he was lucky if Cersei didn’t pick a fight of Tyrion began bawling at the abuse of his sister and Father. Well, abuse in Cersei’s case, Father was always coldly absent towards his youngest child. Jaime used to think of it as Tywin being ashamed of Tyrion’s size and the ridicule it could bring to House Lannister; however, Jaime had a realization along the same time as he decided to leave the Kingsguard.

Jaime took the opportunity to visit Casterly Rock when Cersei made a rare trip to their home and Jaime had sought out his Father. Tywin wasn’t expecting his visit, which is why Jaime was able to discover him within Joanna’s old chambers. Since her death, Tywin had cordoned off her rooms and allowed nobody to enter them. The children were not allowed to explore their mother’s old rooms and no servants cleaned the space since her death. Jaime had once seen Tywin exit the room with a piece of Joanna’s jewelry to give to Cersei as a gift for her wedding, but this was the only time the knight had ever seen the room be used.

Jaime remembered looking for his Father within Tywin’s chambers, but hearing a sweet melody brought him to his mother’s old parlor. Dumbfounded by the thought of someone trespassing within her chambers, Jaime peeked his head inside. Tywin Lannister sat at an old white piano, as he solemnly played a familiar ballad. Jaime felt his eyes widen and glisten, as he faintly remembered sitting on his mother’s lap as she played the same tune.

That revelation had led Jaime to believe that Tywin did not hate Tyrion as a person, no, it was just the reminder of Joanna and her death that put a rift between the two. Perhaps, Tyrion returning to the Rock with him and showing his brilliance will endear Father more to his younger son.

So lost in thought, Jaime barely heard the Greyjoy when he spoke to the Lannister, “I’ve heard you fought during my family’s rebellion.”

Before answering, Jaime took a moment to evaluate the youth. The Ironborn were famed raiders that were infamous for their brutality and rage in battle. The Islanders happily rejected working for anything that they could steal. In other words, the Ironborn were pricks, and Theon Greyjoy seemed to be carrying on the tradition quite well.

“It was my duty as a Kingsguard.” Jaime neutrally responded.

Theon’s flashed the Lannister his crooked smile as he leaned forward and asked a question he already knew the answer too, “Didn’t they completely raze the Lannister fleet?”

Looking at the youth straight in the eyes, Jaime confidently responded, “Yes, and we brought their homes down upon them for the offense.”

Excited by any talk of combat, Arya piped in and unknowingly calmed the growing tension, “Did you fight their fleet?”

“No.” Jaime answered, and turned away from glaring at Theon to face the younger Stark daughter, “Stannis Baratheon smashed the Iron Fleet with the help of Lord Redwyne. My role began when the fighting came to the actual islands.”

“My Father has mentioned your skill during the Siege of Pyke.” Robb mentioned from the other end of the table.

Jaime gave a small nod of thanks to the young Lord and continued, “I’ll grant you one thing, Greyjoy, your kin are devils when it comes to war at sea. It truly is a testament to the skill of Stannis that the rebellion was so short-lived. But on land? The Ironborn are no harder to kill than any other man.”

“We gave them hell.” Theon bitterly disagreed, acting as if he had been old enough to fight in the conflict.

Jaime allowed himself another drink of wine before responding, “My group must have had an easier go of it.”

Seeing his adopted brother considering striking the Kingsguard under his roof, Robb attempted to calm all parties involved, “Victarion Greyjoy is known as a great warrior.”

“I wanted to cross blades with him.” Jaime admitted, “No offense Greyjoy, but I advocated that we kill most of your brethren. Men like Balon and Victarion should not have been allowed to operate unchecked after an attempted rebellion.”

Surprisingly, Theon didn’t leap across the table at the Lannister with a knife in hand. Instead, the Greyjoy admitted, “That’s actually quite the compliment befitting of the Ironborn.”

Jaime rubbed his forehead with a chuckle and silently decided that the Northerners and Iron Islanders were equally barbarous.

Arya was laughing with Theon, but the almost jumped in her seat as she had a realization and quickly asked the Kingsguard, “Can you tell us about Barristan the Bold?”

While none showed the same enthusiasm, everyone at the table leaned in a little closer as they waited for Jaime’s response. Ser Barristan Selmy was a hero among heroes and a legend among legends. The valor and honor of the famed knight had no equal in his generation, which was actually one of Jaime’s childhood motivations for becoming a knight. Even Sansa’s eyes lit up slightly when Arya mentioned the legendary figure.

Jaime smiled at Arya’s eagerness and was reminded of his boyhood. The Lannister leaned back and relented, “I can confidently say that there is no living man more worthy to be held in such high regard as Ser Barristan. Would you like to hear the first time I crossed blades with him?”

Without needing to voice their approval the table unanimously agreed, which allowed Jaime to begin, “When I was 14 I squired briefly for Ser Barristan when we were fighting against the Kingswood Brotherhood. I saw him defeat their leader, Simon Toyne, and marvelled at his skill. When they brought me into the Kingsguard, I had been undefeated in single combat for a couple years. They had an unofficial tradition where they canonized new members by having a series of duels within the ranks. Sers Oswell Whent and Jonothor Dorry pushed me to my limits, but I defeated them and felt as if I could conquer the Seven Kingdoms with only my sword arm. When it came time for me to face Ser Barristan, I was confident that I could at least make him work for the victory.”

Jaime paused for a moment, which had Arya quickly pipe in, “Did you win?”

“Of course not!” Jaime laughed, “I was able to swing my sword maybe four times before Barristand the Bold knocked me on my ass.”

The entire table, especially Theon and Robb, erupted at the thought of Jaime Lannister being made to concede to the older knight. Willing to admit his defeat to the legendary Kingsguard, Jaime didn’t mind the humor the others gained from the story.

“Honestly, the same would have happened if Sers Arthur Dayne or Lewyn Martell had been present that day.” Jaime admitted after a generous drink of wine.

The mention of the Sword of the Morning brought Arya out of her revelry and she jumped with another question, “What was Ser Dayne like?”

Jaime lost his smile and covered his mouth with his glass of wine as he answered, “He never left Rhaegar’s side.”

All joy left the room, as even its’ younger occupants remembered the cruel actions of Rhaegar Targaryen that led to Robert’s Rebellion and the end of a dynasty. Arya looked ready to continue to pepper Jaime with further questions about his fellow Kingsguard, but Maester Luwin distracted the young Stark girl by mentioning Torrhen Karstark’s recent expeditions to the Wall.. Robb and Theon quickly joined the conversation and the attention of the table left Jaime Lannister.

The Lannister sat and stared deeply into the Dornish red within his cup. Not every memory within the Kingsguard was a cruel one, but there was no reminiscing about Rhaegar without immediate regret. Jaime had been one of many that truly believed Rhaegar would usher in a new era of prosperity for Westeros. In the end, the Targaeryan price was equally as mad as the Targaeryan king.

Jaime considered excusing himself from the table, but the sweet voice to his right demanded his attention, “Is Lord Swyft confident in a sizeable harvest before Winter arrives?”

Ensuring that his jaw didn’t drop, Jaime turned to the vision beside him. Sansa sat there expectantly as she awaited an answer. 

“Lord Swyft is a capable man and my Father would surely assist if there were any difficulties.” Jaime warily answered.

Lord Harys Swyft of Cornfield is a remarkably icompetent moron; however, he does hold a unique position of importance within the Westerlands. The vast majority of gold and silver could be found in the rich mines of the West; however, the same can not be said for farmland. There is fertile land within the Westerlands, but there is only so much room to grow crops for the vast population of the West. Cornfield, the domain of House Swyft, is the breadbasket of the West. The largest and most fertile tracts of farmland within the West are controlled by Harys Swyft, which gives the fool an annoying amount of power. Tywin Lannister had been attempting to limit House Swyft’s influence in the Westerlands for years, but barring Swyft being foolish enough to directly cross the Lions, there was no legitimate reason to remove the nobles. Jaime couldn’t help but wonder as to why Sansa Stark knew the logistics of his homeland.

The Lannister politely declined a lemon cake offered to him by the Stark woman and remarked, “You are surprisingly knowledgeable about a region that is not your own.”

Sansa washed down some her dessert with a drink of wine and replied, “I’ve had my eyes on the West for some time now.”

“And why would that be?” Jaime inquired, his interest piqued.

“Well,” Sansa began to clarify, “I’ve been interested in all other regions of Westeros. I did think that I would become Queen one day. Although, the West is an exception. It’s clear that under the control of Tywin Lannister that the Westerlands are likely going to enter a new era of success.”

Jaime looked at the Stark and chuckled, “Not many Northerners would speak so highly of my Father.”

“No,” Sansa readily admitted, “but I’m not your average Northerner.”

“Nothing could be more true.” Jaime agreed, as he found himself once more impressed by the eldest Stark daughter. In that moment Sansa had an uncanny resemblance to Jaime’s immediate family. The clear ambition within her eyes reminded him of his Father’s ruthless cunning, Tyrion’s unbridled genius, and there was an unfortunate sign of Cersei’s irresistible drive.

“Perhaps there’s a future for myself in the West.” Sansa pondered aloud, before she rejoined the conversation with the rest of the table.

For the rest of the meal, Jaime found himself constantly glancing at Sansa Stark, thinking of congratulating and mourning her future husband.

(------------------)

Sansa noticed that Robb’s knuckles began to turn pale as his grip increased on the elaborately carved wooden armrest of the Lord’s chair. The cause was obvious, this was the first time Robb would act in the capacity of Lord Stark to hear the pleas of his vassals. Every couple weeks, or once in a lifetime depending on the noble, a Lord opens their home to hear the concerns of those they were born to protect. The Starks had always proudly fulfilled this duty and the smallfolk and nobles of the North were not afraid to petition their liege lord.

While still a boy of seventeen, Robb made for an impressive figure in the high seat reserved for the Lord. Robb seemed to be nearly fully grown and his dull gray-blue eyes reminded many of his father, despite his clear Tully heritage. The young Stark lord sat straight in his chair and his eyes, which were locked on the large doors leading into the hall, did not waver. Still, underneath his seemingly stoic appearance, Sansa could tell that her brother was an anxious mess.

Maester Luwin sat to the right of Robb and, having known the boy since he was an infant, could also see through the brave facade. Through a knowing look, Sansa could tell that Maester Luwin was asking her to try and calm the nervous Lord.

Sitting at the right of Robb, the spot normally reserved for the wife of the Lord or another high ranking family member, Sansa was easily able to gently rest her hand over her brothers’ clenched fist.

The effect was immediate and Robb let out a slow sigh, as he couldn’t help but share a small grin with his sister. The young lord allowed himself to relax slightly, but Sansa could still see the thinly veiled panic within the eyes he shared with their Father.

“You have nothing to fear, Robb.” Sansa promised her brother.

Robb shut his eyes in an attempt to compose himself, while saying, “This is Father’s chair, Sansa.”

“And one day it will be Robb Stark’s chair.” Sansa responded without a moment of hesitation.

Robb looked as if he wanted to confide further in his sister, but his chance disappeared when Rodrick Cassel opened the large doors of the Hall and guided in the first of the petitioners. The first one in line was clearly a poor farmer. The man had nearly succeeded in cleaning every speck of dirt from his tanned face and his tunic, which was undoubtedly his finest, only had a few tears in it. The farmer meekly moved before the high table and bowed deeply in respect to the children of his Lord.

“Please,” Robb began, “raise your head and tell me your name.”

The weathered face of the farmer was barely composed as the man answered Robb, “Horace, m’lord, my name is Horace.”

There was a pause between the noble and his servant, which Sansa filled before it grew awkward, “What brings you to us Horace?”

Bowing his head ahead, before he spoke, Horace began, “I’m no stranger to hard work m’lord. I’ve worked my land since my father could put a tool in my hands and not once have I complained. Please know that I would not bother you unless I had no other option. It shames me and my family to come before you like this.” The man paused to let out a shaky breath, and began again, “There was an accident in my field the week before last. A fire spread and I lost part of my harvest.”

Sansa frowned, as a few tears escaped the man, while he continued, “I’m not the best with my numbers, but I had a neighbor help me with it several times. I barely have enough of a yield left to pay my taxes and feed my family. I’ve weather difficult harvests before, I know if somebody is going to go to bed hungry. My wife just blessed me with another son, but I’m afraid that one of my children will go hungry if I’m to pay my taxes. I don’t know what to do m’lord.”

“You would feed yourself before your children?” Robb asked, in an accusatory tone.

‘Well with that attitude it will become Robb Stark the Cruel’s chair’ Sansa thought, as she strained to keep a pleasant expression on her face and subtly gripped Robb’s wrist in warning.

The now trembling man didn’t care that his tears were flowing as he defended himself, “What would you have me do m’lord? If I don’t have the strength to maintain my land, then I may as well deny all of my children a full belly.”

Robb had the sense to look reproachful for his misstep, which prompted Sansa to lean in and whisper, “Our Kennelmaster is looking for a new apprentice. Promise one of his children the position and alleviate the problem.”

His appreciative gaze sending a wordless thank you to his sister, Robb turned to the awaiting farmer, “Forgive me. I should not have so quickly judged your predicament without seeking to understand the entire situation.”

The peasant looked terrified that Robb had bowed his head even an inch, but before he could shout out a hurried apology of his own, the young Lord continued, “My Kennelmaster is seeking a new apprentice. If it pleases you, I will recommend one of your children to fill the position. They may continue to serve in my household as they age, or may return to your land when your troubles have ceased. Additionally, once you leave here, I’ll be sending one of my stewards with you. They will observe the state of your farm and make a new determination as to the portion of your harvest you owe House Stark.”

The man dropped to his knees, “Gods protect you, Lord Stark. May the Old and the New watch over you.”

Robb nodded at Rodrick Cassel, who guided the man away and allowed the next petitioner to approach.

Sansa proudly watched her brother listen to the needs of his people and was assured of his future as a good lord when he often turned to either her or their Maester for advice. After half an hour, the line began to waver, and only a few peasants were left waiting along with a well-dressed herald from House Manderly.

The Stark girl briefly wondered what had brought a messenger from House Manderly into their court, but the arrival of Jaime Lannister and Addam Marbrand from a side entrance shifted her attention. The pair of Lannisters seemed content to chat among themselves and observe Robb interacting with the people. Confident that her brother could handle the rest, along with the help of Maester Luwin, Sansa rose to greet the Westerners at the side of the hall.

Now it was Sansa taking deep breaths to steady herself, as she approached the Kingslayer. It had been a few days since their dinner, and Sansa could not forget the frequent gaze he directed at her after their conversation.

“You have a talent for dealing with the Smallfolk, my Lady.” Addam complimented, as Sansa reached the pair.

“And saving your brother from shame.” Jaime added, while greeting her with a bright grin that never failed to make her heart pound.

As charming as the Lannister was, Sansa wouldn’t allow her growing infatuation to stop her from slyly responding, “It seems I do have something in common with Tyrion Lannister.”

A small laugh erupted from the pair of men and Sansa was quick to ask, “What brings the two of you to our court today?”

“Your brother will become Lord Paramount of the North one day, I’m interested in what kind of Lord he’ll become.” Jaime answered, as he watched Robb receive the man from House Manderly.

Sansa followed Jaime’s gaze and overheard part of their conversation. The Manderly man was reporting a strange occurrence in White Harbor. Apparently, they had noticed an unusually large number of horses being brought over from the East. The importing of horses wasn’t an uncommon trade in the Northern port, but the sudden increase in the practice seemed to worry Lord Manderly. Seeing how Robb intently listened and asked for more details further assured Sansa of his future.

“He’ll be a fair one.” Sansa declared both to herself and as an answer to the Kingsguard.

“With his sister’s guidance,” Jaime’s deep voice began from behind her shoulder, “I have no doubt.”

The sheer confidence in his voice made the simple remark the most genuine compliment Sansa had ever heard. The Stark turned and looked slightly upwards to face the infamous Lannister and once more found herself lost in his shining emeralds. An insane idea that had lurked in the back of Sansa’s mind suddenly demanded to be made a reality and the Stark girl prepared to pose the idea to the knight.

Unfortunately, just as Sansa was opening her mouth, the doors to the hall crashed open. All eyes turned to the entrance to see Smalljon Umber stomp into the hall. The Umber pushed the few petitioners out of the way and walked past a frowning Rodrick Cassel.

“Welcome, Lord Umber.” Maester Luwin greeted, as the small giant moved before the high table, “I trust that there is a valid reason for your disruption?”

The Smalljon, not known for mincing his words, wasted no time in getting to the point, “I bring warning from the Last Hearth, Lord Robb. A force of Wildlings have somehow breached the Wall. They number in the hundreds, maybe even a thousand.”

Gasps were heard throughout the hall as all heads turned to the young Robb Stark, who was gripping the armrests of his Father’s chair.


	3. The First Clash in the North

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is staying safe in these uncertain times! Hopefully, this story can bring you some form or escape/relief from the chaos happening in the world.

There was a flurry of activity as Jaime attempted to keep up with his rapidly moving Northern hosts. As soon as the Smalljon had delivered his message there were calls for the guards to escort the common people out of the hall as everyone jumped from their seats. Determined to fully understand the situation, Jaime followed the Northern leaders as they vacated the great hall. While keeping up with Robb Stark and his various advisers, Jaime couldn’t help but think of his younger brother. Tyrion and his Brotherhood companions had made it very clear that they intended to stop at every holdfast along the way, so their group likely had not reached the Wall yet. The Lannister knight inwardly hoped that no Wildlings happened upon his brothers’ group; however, Jaime knew that he had to push those thoughts aside for the moment.

Robb Stark, Maester Luwin, Rodrik Cassel, and Jon Umber navigated the corridors of Winterfell until they entered the solar of Lord Stark. Jaime grabbed the open door as the men strode in and gathered around the Maester unfurling a map of the northern kingdom. Jaime stood at the door, about to close it, but paused as he noticed Sansa Stark standing at a turn in the hall. The young woman looked at Jaime hesitantly and seemed to shrink slightly under his gaze. A moment passed between the two and Jaime shifted his body to make room at the entrance of the doorway and held the door open for the Stark daughter. Jaime treasured the grateful smile that Sansa graced him with as the woman slid past him into the room of tense Northerners.

The pair were immediately greeted by the gruff voice of Smalljon Umber, “What place does a Lannister and a woman have in here?”

Jaime gave the large man his best sarcastic grin and answered, “Apart from me being a Kingsguard and the protection of the realm being my job and all, we both have brothers about to walk into that mob of barbarians.”

The Smalljon marched up to stare down the Southern knight and seemed ready to trade blows with Jaime, but Robb raised a hand to cut off the large lord. “Peace, Lord Umber. Ser Jaime is correct. Both of them deserve to be here.”

The fury and distrust never left the Umber’s face, but he did back away from Jaime with a grunt of frustration. Jaime didn’t take his eyes off of the Smalljon as he approached the table, but he did notice Sansa carefully take one of Robb’s hands into her own for a moment.

“Lord Umber,” Luwin began, “there are confirmed sightings of a large group of Wildlings breaching the Wall?”

The Smalljon gave a short laugh, “A group? An army more like. Our scouts gave reports that they number from seven hundred to a thousand.”

“How is that possible?” A shocked Sansa asked the question at the back of everyone’s mind.

Rodrik nodded at her inquiry, “It’s not unheard of for a small group to slip past the Night’s Watch, but nearly a thousand? The lady is right, that shouldn’t be possible.”

Lord Umber nodded his agreement, “Well we didn’t see them anywhere near the Wall. They had already left its shadow and the cowards seemed to be skirting our land. A few small villages have been ransacked within our territory with only a couple poor sods left alive. Believe me, we want answers just as much as you. We’ve sent riders to alert Commander Mormont and men to further track the invading bastards, but we’ve yet to hear back from either.”

“Are they marching as one group?” Rodrik asked, as he was taking in the information.

“Not from what we first saw.” The Smalljon reluctantly answered, “They seemed to have broken up into raiding groups, but there is a central force of several hundred that were staying together.”

Looking intently at the Northern map, Robb asked Jaime, “Is it possible that my father and the King would be able to return with their forces?”

“Perhaps,” Jaime answered as the room turned their attention to him, “but how many will the Wildlings kill before a host the size of the King’s retinue can return? They may be able to send a few riders back if we get a message to them fast enough, but don’t count on their aid anytime soon.”

“This matter will have to be solved by us.” Sansa spoke as if she were addressing the entire room, but Jaime suspected this was another subtle attempt at guiding and reassuring her brother.

To his credit, the young Stark noble didn’t show any sign of the massive weight suddenly thrust upon his shoulders. With a nod both to himself and those gathered around him, Robb asked, “How many fighting men are currently available?”

“On hand? That can be roused in a day?” Rodrik thought aloud as he considered the current state of Winterfell and its most immediate holdings. “We can organize some eight hundred men right away. Give me more time and I can call on a much larger force.”

“Unfortunately, time is something we don’t have.” Robb muttered, as he considered Rodrik’s report. “The problem is that we not only have the main force to worry about, but who knows how many raiding groups that will spread across the North unchecked.”

Maester Luwin understood his young Lord’s reasoning, “They could evade us for months if allowed to move freely.”

“Which forces us to divide our soldiers as well.” Robb stated before turning back to Rodrik, “I want groups of twelve men to be immediately dispatched. Their goal is to track these smaller Wildling groups and evacuate those who may be in their path. I want our forces ready to depart by tomorrow morning.”

Jaime approved of the young Lord’s tactic, but felt the need to add his opinion. “That is the right move, but you’ll leave yourself with a smaller force to challenge the main Wildling body. I have two hundred men at arms and a hundred cavalry with me. With your permission, I’ll dispatch a hundred of my soldiers to also hunt down these stray groups; however, they’ll likely need to be paired with some men who know the area.”

Robb, and all the others gathered at the table, seemed blown away by Jaime’s offer, “Ser Jaime, I can’t ask you to risk the lives of your men in defense of the North.”

Jaime shook his head and clapped Robb on the back, “The North has protected the Seven Kingdoms from what lies beyond the Wall for a long time, allow the Westernlands to shoulder the burden this time.”

Northern sensibility condemns most blatant shows of emotion, but Jaime’s confident words had a visible effect on the occupants of the room. The Lannister didn’t mind the gaze of the sole redhead within the room, but he could do without the stares of the grizzled men and young lord, “I’ll add the rest of my forces to the battle with their main host. I also recommend that my man, Ser Addam, be sent with some of our light cavalry to track this larger army. He has experience with this type of command.”

Again, Robb nodded hesitantly at the Lannisters’ generosity and gladly accepted the offer. Recovering from the unexpected offer, Robb turned toward Maester Luwin, “We’ll need to send word to all the Northern houses at once.”

“Of course.” Luwin assured the young lord.

Gripping the table Robb added as an afterthought, “When this is over, it might be time for the Starks to tour Castle Black once again.”

Seeing as the discussion had stopped, the group began to break to see to their urgent duties. Jaime shared one last look with Sansa before she moved after the Maester, “You’ll need help with the messages, Maester Luwin, and I’ll see to organizing the necessary medical supplies.”

Jaime followed the group leaving the study and allowed a small smile to slip through his trained mask of calm authority. 

‘And here I thought my time spent in this frozen hell would be an utter waste with no entertainment.’

(-)

The last few weeks had seen all sorts of traffic occupy Winterfell’s courtyard, but not even the visit of a king could compete with the hectic preparations of an army. When Jaime left the inner holdings of the castle, all he could see was a mob of bodies as men frantically made ready to go to battle. Walking into the center of the madness, it didn’t take Jaime long to find his trusted companions. Lyle and Addam had dressed themselves in their full armor and ran to Jaime to receive their orders.

“The Wildlings really do fall upon us?” Addam asked, as the trio moved to a less manic side of the courtyard.

“They do.” Jaime confirmed, as he put a hand on either man’s shoulder. “And they number nearly a thousand. They’ll burn the countryside to the ground if they’re not stopped, so I volunteered our assistance.”

Lyle laughed with excitement, “Naturally! These Northerners will need someone to teach them how to fight!”

Jaime smiled at his friends’ enthusiasm before turning his attention to Addam, “I want you to take ten of our best riders and find this central host of Wildlings. I doubt the Umbers would exaggerate about their numbers, but I wouldn’t put it past a Northerner to forget how to count. When you find them, give me constant updates on their movements.”

“Consider it done.” Addam confidently remarked as he nodded towards his friends before running off to the stables.

Focusing again on his broad chested ally, Jaime instructed him, “See that the rest of our cavalry are prepared to depart and have a hundred of our men ready to march. Inform the Major that I want the rest of them prepared to accompany Northern soldiers in small scouting groups to find any outliers.”

Lyle nodded his understanding, but after another moment of contemplation Jaime stopped his friend from leaving, “And have the Major send me a Sergeant that won’t be leaving with us.”

Leaving no time for delay, Lyle ran to complete his tasks. Jaime allowed himself to take a deep breath as he scanned the courtyard for his next objective. Finding the young Lord Stark standing atop a flight of stairs, Jaime began to dodge and weave his way through the mob to reach the young man. Moments later, Jaime was ascending the stairs as Rodrik Cassel descended. The older castellan gave the Lannister a surprising look of respect even as he bellowed orders to the waiting stewards and soldiers.

Looking at the frantic movements of his vassals and servants with a slightly pale face, Robb greeted Jaime, “I wanted to thank you again, Ser Jaime. Your assistance will certainly save many of my people.”

“Think nothing of it.” Jaime quite literally waved away the young man’s remark. Standing beside the young lord overseeing the flurry of activity below, Jaime couldn’t help but think of his first time preparing for battle. Looking at Robb with a small amount of admiration, Jaime praised him, “You’re doing well, Lord Robb.”

The young Stark tried to appear annoyed at the reassurance from the Lannister, but nonetheless some of the color returned to Robbs’ face. Stifling a laugh, Jaime ventured to ask, “Do you plan on leading from the front? Or taking a position at the rear?”

“At the front, of course!” Robb stammered, as if he couldn’t believe that Jaime would ask such a ridiculous question.

The knight smiled at the youth’s eagerness and replied, “That’s admirable. Something a true knight would strive to do.”

Robb narrowed his eyes at what he believed to be Jaime patronizing him, “I’m asking these men to risk their lives in my name. How could I not put myself beside them?”

Allowing all traces of humor to leave his tone, Jaime’s steady voice answered, “Congratulations, Stark. That is a perspective few among the nobility share. And, believe me, it’s one that I agree with wholeheartedly.”

Robb seemed to relax again at Jaime’s words, but the Kingsguard quickly followed by placing a hand on the young lord’s shoulder, “Only, remember that it is your duty to lead these men. That may require you to stand at the front of your lines; however, it can be difficult to fully understand the flow of the battle when you’re solely focused on not losing your head. My advice would be to save pursuits of glory and heroism for future conflicts. Let me and your vassals take the front line.”

The rush of awe flowing through the young man was evident by his slack jaw expression, which he attempted to shrug off by exclaiming in surprise, “You’re going to join us in battle?”

“Why would I not?” Jaime allowed his tone to betray the insult he felt from Robb’s surprise, “Like you said, I can’t expect my men to fight for a cause that I wouldn’t put myself at risk for.”

Jaime allowed the boy to gape at him in wonder as he moved his gaze back to the men hurriedly preparing weapons and provisions for tomorrow’s departure. After a few moments, Robb spoke at such a low mumble that Jaime almost missed it, but he heard the Stark utter, “There’s more to you than what meets the eye, Lannister.”

‘More than you’ll ever know.’ Jaime inwardly reflected as his myriad of past misdeeds flashed through his mind. The knight briefly wondered if his rush to assist the Northerners in their time of need was some attempt at redemption, yet the cynic within him wouldn’t entertain that idea for long.

The Lannister reassured himself of his selfishness by thinking, ‘There is opportunity to be found everywhere. Even this frozen hell could offer some reward, but not if the Wildlings are allowed to slaughter its’ inhabitants.’

Thankfully, Jaime was able to further repress his inner struggle when one of his soldiers ran up the stairs. The Lannister soldier seemed to be more than a decade older than Jaime; however, despite his age, his broad build easily filled out the leather armor reinforced with chainmail that was standard for the common Western soldier.

The man dropped to one knee with and bowed his head, “Ser Jaime, Lord Stark. Sergeant Marx reporting at your request.”

It was at that moment that Jaime noticed the insignia on his chest that denotes his rank. Nodding his head, Jaime addressed the soldier, “Rise Sergeant.”

Marx followed his Lord’s orders and Jaime allowed a grin to surface as he watched Robb’s admiration at the strict diligence of one of his common soldiers. “I’m afraid you won’t have the highly sought after goal of roaming the countryside for barbarians to gut, Sergeant. I’m tasking you and your squad to form a constant guard for the Stark sisters.”

The Sergeant immediately nodded his understanding, but a bewildered Robb interrupted, “What was that Lannister? You’re going to order Western guards to follow my sisters around?”

Jaime turned to Robb with his tall stature and voice full of its’ usual command, not wanting to be undermined by a green boy in front of one of his soldiers, “I was tasked by the King and your father to protect your sisters until I’ve seen them safely to King’s Landing and that is exactly what I intend to do.”

The Lannisters’ attempts at comforting and preparing the seventeen year old boy were gone as Jaime used his larger stature to intimidate Robb, “Feel free to have some of your own men accompany mine, but as long as the Wildlings are operating unchecked in your land, you can expect Westerners to ensure the safety of your kin. Do you object to this?”

Trying and failing to save face in front of the far more seasoned Lannister, Robb replied with his best attempt at a steady face, “I’ll agree to this, Ser Jaime. But don’t think that I can’t ensure the safety of my sisters.”

Robb was quick to push his way past Jaime and descend the stairs, which left the Lannister and his loyal soldier atop the stairs. Jaime looked at the retreating form of the Stark boy and hoped that he would prove himself competent tomorrow.

“You have your orders, Sergeant.” Jaime dismissed the still waiting soldier who once more nodded to the Lannister before rushing off to inform his men.

Almost longingly, Jaime caressed the sword that was ever present at his side and a constant reminder at the one gift that could never be robbed of him. Taking a moment away from the present madness, Jaime reminded himself, “Soon my arm will be complete once more.”

(-)

Sansa desperately endeavored to find a quiet place in the anarchy filling her home. It had been several hours since the Smalljon delivered his terrible news and the castle had not stopped moving for a moment. Sansa had thrown herself into assisting the maester by drafting letters, organizing rations, and checking on the state of their medical supplies. The young Stark looked at the full moon above Winterfell and realized that she had been on her feet for more than ten hours. The moment that she had finished her last task, a wave of exhaustion crashed into Sansa, but she couldn’t rest when the other occupants of her home were still in a frenzy.

Needing a moment of peace, Sansa wandered the lengths of the castle for a sanctuary, which only led to her volunteering to assist a few servants that terribly needed the help. The young woman was about to break out into tears from her exhaustion and frustration, but inspiration struck when she passed the crypt of her ancestors. Sansa knew that no common servant would enter the resting place of her family and there certainly was no business that needed to be fulfilled amongst the dead.

Grabbing a nearby lantern, Sansa began the descent into the dark and shuddered as the lower elevation brought a wave of chilled air. As the girl carefully watched her footing on the stone steps, Sansa thought back to the first time that she had toured her family’s ancestral resting place. Not long after she turned ten, Maester Luwin had begun giving her lessons on Robert’s Rebellion. The redhead was an avid lover of history and the tales of her father and his close friend defeating the tyrannical King Aerys were captivating to the young girl. Although, one day, Sansa thought past her father and wondered about two men she had never met: her grandfather and uncle. Rickard Stark and Brandon Stark. The Stark girl asked her tutor what had happened to her family members, but before the maester could answer, Sansa’s father intervened. Ned Stark calmly asked Maester Luwin that Sansa be excused from her studies for the day and led the girl into the crypts. Sansa had been slightly afraid of the dark tomb, but the warm voice and touch of her father made the girl feel invincible. It was on that day that Sansa learned of how her grandfather and uncle were executed by the Mad King. The information was shocking to the young girl, but it wasn’t until Sansa saw the likeness between her father and the stone statues of their brethren that she started crying.

Sansa followed that same path that her father guided her on eight years prior and came upon her brother. Robb stood in front of their grandfather’s tomb and greeted his sister with a small smile as she approached.

“You couldn’t sleep either?” Robb questioned. With a silent shake of her head, Sansa moved to stand beside her brother and joined him in staring at the recreation of their grandfather that so much resembled their father.

After a few moments, Robb broke the silence with, “Do you remember when father went to war?”

“Against the Iron Islands,” Sansa confirmed, “I remember mother crying for hours after he left, but not much beyond that.”

“I used to think of it as a blessing, going to battle I mean.” Robb admitted, “What better way is there for a noble to prove himself?”

Sansa gave her younger brother a sad smile, “You proved yourself this morning with the small folk.”

Robb silently squeezed his sister’s hand in a sign of thanks, before sighing, “Have you spoken to mother?”

The sister shared her brother’s sigh, “I talked at her if that counts. She didn’t even react when I told her that you are marching to battle tomorrow.”

“She didn’t look at me.” Robb confessed, as he shivered slightly, “I told her that I would do everything possible to defend her and my siblings, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from that damned prayer wheel.”

Unable to see her sibling’s pain, Sansa pulled Robb into a hug and the Stark children allowed themselves to pretend for a moment that they weren’t responsible for the wellbeing of the entire North.

Unfortunately, they could only pretend for so long, and Robb reluctantly pulled away from his sister. Finally seeing that his sister was in a similar state of apprehension, Robb attempted to comfort her, “You don’t need to worry Sansa. I’ll have Rodrik and Ser Jaime with me.”

Sansa wished that her brother’s reassurances would do anything to placate her fears; however, he didn’t need to know that. Marshalling her strength to put on a brave smile for the boy that needed to act like a man, Sansa replied, “You’re right, Robb. Please, go get some rest for me.”

The younger Stark nodded at his sister’s advice and gave her a smile in thanks for her veiled confidence. Sansa watched her brother stride away with a renewed purpose in his step. When Robb disappeared from view, the young woman turned her gaze back to the statue of Rickard Stark.

‘I pray that I’ll never have to see Robb’s face remade in stone.’

(-)

Jaime Lannister slept like a baby. When he was a green boy, Jaime would spend hours before a battle shaking with nerves and battling nausea at the anticipation of conflict. Thankfully, Jaime discovered over time that war was second nature to him. The recent trials of self-discovery and independence within his life had been draining the Kingslayer, but the promise of battle had done wonders for the Lannister knight’s morale. Yes, Jaime Lannister was ecstatic to finally have a clear problem that could be conquered through the use of his sword arm.

The Lannister emerged from the keep of Winterfell with a content smile on the face that unnerved some of the Northern guards rushing to join the allied host. Jaime ignored their glares and slack-jawed expressions as he gleefully whispered a Western tune on his way to the stables. The private stables where his charger was stored seemed almost deserted, as most of the other knights had likely reported to their posts; however, Jaime heard a rustling within the stall that contained his horse.

Imagining that a stable boy had been late or slow to prepare his steed, Jaime grinned at the thought of giving the lad a small scare. Taking a moment to compose himself and steel his face into a harsh mask, Jaime kicked open the door. Surprisingly, it was not a stable boy frantically preparing his horse’s saddle within the stall, but rather, Arya Stark practicing the same maneuver with her sword that Jaime had taught her earlier.

“Plan on stealing my horse?” Jaime couldn’t help but ask with a grin, as the annoyed look on the girl's face quickly robbed him of his stern facade.

“No.” Arya answered, as if Jaime was the stupidest man within the Seven Kingdoms, “Isn’t it a squire’s duty to prepare a knight’s horse?”

Jaime didn’t even try to hide his laugh before moving forward to inspect his charger. Ignoring Arya’s glare and pouting at his amusement, Jaime found that the saddle and reins were properly secured to the horse and it seemed prepared to depart.

Turning back to the young girl, Jaime inquired, “So you think you’re ready for war after one sword lesson?”

“Plenty of the men going to fight today have never had a real sword lesson!” Arya argued, and Jaime couldn’t help but nod at the point. Many common soldiers were simply conscripted without any real training. In this scenario, most of the Northern host were trained guards that were ready to leave at a moment’s notice, but there likely were several volunteers that nobody had time to train. Of course, the Lannister soldiers were men that had benefited from Tywin’s reorganization of the Western armies and were all trained fighters.

Seeing the fire in the girls eyes, Jaime again couldn’t help the small grin that came to his lips as a result of her enthusiasm. Looking down to meet the sixteen year old girl in the eye, Jaime replied, “I would feel so much better knowing that you were at my side, ready to bite the ankles of any rabid Wildling; however, I’m fairly certain your father and brother would object!”

“Robb already did, but he can’t decide or dismiss who you bring into battle!” Arya argued further, showing that she had clearly planned for this debate.

Jaime certainly agreed that challenging the young Stark’s authority would be amusing, but fostering any unneeded animosity between the Lannisters and Starks before marching into battle would only lead to the death of more men. It was impossible to bring the girl along, yet Jaime saw her desperate form and thought of a young Tyrion begging for his favor.

Placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, Jaime calmly responded, “You know I can’t do that, little wolf.”

Hearing the gentleness in Jaime’s tone and viewing the entire situation as unfair, the dam straining to hold in Arya’s emotions broke and the teenager began to sob, “But I need to defend my family.”

Without thinking, Jaime wrapped the younger girl in his arms allowing her to hide the flow of tears in his chest. The Lannister was surprised by his immediate need to comfort the young girl and sighed as he rubbed circles into the young Stark’s back. Unable to help himself, Jaime imagined a future where Arya rode into combat with him dressed in the red of House Lannister. Already preparing himself for future headaches, Jaime promised the girl, “And you will.”

Arya broke the embrace as she rubbed her eyes and questioned the knight, “So, you’re gonna let me fight with you.”

“Not today, little wolf.” Seeing the ire return to her eyes, Jaime raised his hand to cut her off and continued, “While the Wildling threat is active, I’ve placed a guard on you and your sister. I’ll allow you to train with them, but don’t expect them to go easy on you.”

The young Stark girl seemed excited at the prospect of being allowed to train, but that faded as she grumbled, “But you wouldn’t be the one teaching me…”

Jaime huffed his surprise at that reaction and felt genuinely honored that the headstrong girl wanted to learn directly from him. Jaime ruffled the girl’s head, much to Arya’s chagrin, and responded, “When I’m not marching to protect your home from Wildlings, I’ll give you all the sword lessons that you want.”

Arya actually had a bit of a grin after that declaration and Jaime capitalized on that with, “And if you’re lucky, I’ll see if I can get your siblings to allow you to accompany me on a patrol once the main fighting is over.”

That appeared to overwhelm the girl and for a second time that day Arya cried in front of and was comforted by a Lannister.

(-)

“Thank the Gods,” Tyrion breathed out a sigh of relief, “a spot of civilization in this wasteland of despair. The Lannister and his small Night’s Watch escort had just climbed atop a hill that gave them a clear view of Harrowsfast, a ruined keep with a single tower within four crumbling walls and a barely serviceable gate.

“You might regret those words when you see the damn prices that those merchants come up with.” Benjen Stark joked, as he brought his horse to a stop alongside Tyrion’s.

The youngest child of Tywin Lannister allowed himself to share a smile with the youngest child of Rickard Stark. Tyrion was surprisingly pleased with the company of the famous Brotherhood ranger, despite his presence drastically lengthening what should have been a brief trip to the Wall. Being a sworn brother of the Night’s Watch, Benjen will always need a practical reason for visiting Winterfell, and that most often involves recruiting for his brotherhood. Their small party scoured the land between Winterfell and the Wall for every hold and village that might contain a man interested in a life of celibacy. Not surprising in the slightest, Benjen Stark was only able to rustle up a dozen men.

When the Northern winds were especially chilling or the scenery became exceedingly dull, Tyrion found himself passing the time by gleefully observing the stunned gaze of the Stark bastard. Jon Snow’s eyes seemed to grow wider every time another one of the North’s most noble degenerates joined their small band. It seemed rare these days to find an actual volunteer for the Night’s Watch, which led to most of its’ honorable guardians being found from various dungeons. By Tyrion’s count: there were three horse thieves, four pickpockets, two poachers, two rapists, and a young lad that would have starved to death without joining the Watch.

The motley group of future Watchmen was another reason for their slow pace, as they had no horses. Tyrion, his two guards, Benjen, Jon, and two other Brothers were forced to keep their horses at a slow canter so the group of “recruits” could follow.

The short Lannister sighed as he tried to stretch his muscles strapped into his custom made saddle. If it weren’t for his pride, and the lack of anything resembling a decent road in this wasteland, Tyrion would have chartered a wheelhouse for this venture. Alas, the little Lannister was forced to suffer alongside the common man. Despite his discomfort, Tyrion looked to the crumbling keep that was growing closer every minute with a wry grin and thought of the many financially challenged women waiting within.

‘Thankfully, the Imp has no need for vows of chastity.’

(-)

The allied Northern and Western army left Winterfell an hour after the sun rose in the morning and had been marching for another five. Having understood the importance of being well-fed after many campaigns, Jaime convinced Robb that their forces should stop for a brief lunch. Also understanding the importance of a leader being seen by his men for morale, Jaime took his horse up and down the column of allied soldiers. 

The Kingsguard was quite pleased with the state of his men. Apart from the soldiers sent to scour the countryside for waywards Wildlings, Jaime had brought along one hundred infantry and one hundred cavalry. The matching leather and mail uniform of the common soldier was of high quality and spoke of the wealth of the West. It was a sight to watch the hundred men march in formation with their long pikes held aloft, which gave the appearance of a forest moving on its own. Tywin Lannister’s reorganization of the Western forces was showing significant results. Many of these men had never seen combat before, but their constant drilling and dedication to the life of a soldier gave them the appearance of veterans. The new system or rankings and classifications also granted the men a clear chain of command and significant discipline. 

In contrast to the Western forces, the five hundred Northern soldiers seemed to form a mob rather than any real significant unit. There was no uniformity when it came to what armor or weapons were wielded by the Northern troops, but the rapid development of this campaign likely played a large role in this disparity. Thankfully, the Northerners were able to keep their mob contained and mobile, so the Lannister soldiers didn’t overtake them in the column.

Jaime rode through the lines and called out to some of the officers that he knew by name, before returning to the front of the military column where the other leaders were waiting atop their horses. Accompanying Robb Stark were Rodrik Cassel and Theon Greyjoy. The Smalljon had departed to inform his father and kin of Robb Stark’s orders in repelling the Wildling incursion. Representing the Western forces along with Jaime were Lyle and the highest ranking officer of the Western forces sent North, Major Thomas Krane. The Greyjoy pup threw a bit of a stink when the Major first joined the nobles in discussing battle preparations, but Cassel had seen the hard edge in the veteran’s gray eyes and told Theon to hold his tongue.

“The men will be ready to continue in a few minutes, Ser.” The gray haired Major Krane confirmed, as Jaime nodded his agreement upon stopping.

Rodrik was quick to add his own opinion, “And our lads should be ready to depart soon as well, Lord Robb.”

The young Lord thanked his castellan for the update, and Jaime silently commended the Stark child. Since their departure, Robb Stark had shown fortitude when leading his men and the Lannister nearly forgot that this commander was still a virgin when it came to battle.

“Riders!” Theon yelled, and soon seven hundred pairs of eyes were on the advancing forms of three horses moving at a full gallop.

Jaime didn’t need to strain his eyesight to confirm that the men were part of the scouting force he had deployed the previous day. The lead rider was wielding a lance with a long red ribbon tied to it’s tip, the sign that a Western scout was returning with an update. They had been sending back a few riders every six hours with reports on their progress. The last report had mentioned their interception of Wildling scouts that suggested the larger host was nearby. The Lannister waited for their arrival with interest, but his eyes widened slightly when he realized that Addam Marbrand was the lead rider. There must have been a significant development if Addam returned to personally deliver the message.

Moments later, Addam and his two companions stopped before the gathered group and the knight immediately began, “You’re headed right for their position. It’s maybe two hours away if they continue to remain in their current location.”

“Have they spotted you?” Theon quickly asked, as Addam took a moment to drink from his canteen.

“Yes,” the blonde knight admitted, “they got a glimpse of some of my men last night and sent a small party after them, but they quickly gave up the chase when they realized that they had no hope of catching them.”

“What of their numbers?” Jaime interjected.

“Groups have continuously come and gone, but there was a recent influx that seemed to stay present for the most part. We counted them at just over six hundred before we made our way to you.”

Lyle reasoned, “We hold a small numerical advantage.”

“And the element of surprise.” Rodrik added, “We should take advantage of that and cut down as many as possible before they have a chance to strike back.”

There was a collective nodding of heads at that plan, but Jaime noticed that the grim look accompanying Addam’s face since his arrival had not faded.

“What else did you see?” Jaime questioned, knowing that something had unnerved his friend.

“I wouldn’t inform you of this if I hadn’t confirmed it with my own eyes.” Addam prepared the group, as he still seemed reluctant to share, “There is a giant among them.”

An uncomfortable silence filled the air for a moment before the ward of House Stark let out an irritating laugh. “A giant?” Theon Greyjoy barked, “Are you sure they weren’t just standing on each other's shoulders?”

“I know what I saw, kraken.” Addam let some venom slip into his voice at the teenager’s incredulous tone, “The beast stood over twelve feet tall and used a tree as a club.”

“They should be extinct.” Robb mumbled, briefly allowing his seventeen year old self show.

Jaime turned to his highest ranking officer and asked, “How can we handle this, Krane?”

The major needed a second to rebound from the realization that giant’s exist and thought aloud, “Hopefully, our pikes should be able to keep him at bay, but his presence alone may divert our attention from the wildlings and we’ll lose the advantage of our tight formation.”

Rodrik added, “If he causes too much chaos with the men on foot, we’ll likely be overrun.”

The gathered men glanced at one another uncomfortably for a few moments, as they saw their chances of easy victory diminish entirely.

Jaime inwardly chuckled, ‘Is this what the North has to offer? Long periods of mind numbing boredom interrupted by instances of certain doom?’

The Lannister showed his fellows a confident grin and volunteered his plan, “The cavalry will have the best odds of staying out of the giant’s reach. We’ll lead a charge through the thinnest grouping of Wildlings and draw the attention of the giant. We’ll move him away from the rest of our forces and make sure his attention doesn’t waver.”

Once more, the Northerners gathered were shocked at the courage and frankly, nobleness of Jaime Lannister, but they would never voice these thoughts to the man.

Agreeing with the plan, Addam offered, “There is some good news. The idiots have made camp at the bottom of a hill. There’s a sizeable forest not far from their position that could hide the approach of our cavalry.”

“Could it also conceal the Lannister infantry?” Robb questioned, as the young lord put back on his mask of total control.

Addam turned to converse with his fellow scouts for a moment before nodding at the Stark child, “If we approach it at a slow and careful pace.”

“What do you have in mind?” Jaime questioned the youth.

“I don’t mean to volunteer your forces.” Robb began diplomatically, before continuing, “But your men and cavalry could serve as the perfect flanking force. If you can station your forces within that forest unseen, then we can cause a racket at the top of the hill. I imagine the Wildlings will throw caution to the wind to face us, and leave you with a very large opening to exploit.”

Jaime didn’t hide his grin at the young lord’s tactical mind. The plan wasn’t perfect by any means, it relied a little too heavily on his forces being able to position themselves without disturbing the savages, but it was devastating if successful.

“You’ll need to give us extra time to secure our position and come running if we’re discovered.” Jaime reminded the young lord who nodded immediately in response.

Theon gave the Westerners a sneer at that point, “We’ll be sure to pull your asses out of the fire if you fuck up.”

Robb and Rodrik gave the Islander sharp glares, but Jaime ignored the young man’s taunt as he turned to make preparations with the rest of his officers.

“A fucking giant!” Lyle exclaimed, as they rode back to the column, “I may actually work up a sweat today!”

(-)

Next to the Wildlings, the Northerners looked like the most orderly military force in the world. Jaime would hesitate to even call the Wildlings a mob and some of them appeared to even be carrying wooden clubs affixed with rocks as weapons. The only thing Jaime would say they have going for them might be their brains being too small to properly comprehend fear. Oh, that and the fucking giant. 

Addam Marbrand was unfortunately correct. The beast must have been twelve feet tall and even the savages from beyond the Wall gave it a wide berth. Its’ hair was tied into massive greasy braids that any sailor would gladly use for rigging on a ship. At one point the monster accidently turned to the side too fast and his improvised weapon of a tree smacked a Wildling to the ground. Even from this point, Jaime could tell that the man was crippled worse than Bran Stark, and the Wildlings' solution was to reprimand the giant and have it deliver another smack of his club on top of the man’s head.

Still, despite the obvious threat of facing a mythical creature, Jaime liked their odds of victory. The Northerners would certainly put up a good fight when they arrived and the Lannister was quite pleased that the stiff ranks of his infantry hadn’t wavered upon seeing the giant. There had been a few of the Wildlings using the forest as a latrine when they approached, but a few knives to the base of the skull had silenced any chance of an alarm. The bastards didn’t even seem to notice the absence of their allies.

Addam would need to be commended, he and his scouts did their job impeccably well. The savages were just about to move up a steep hill when a series of Northern horns rang out across the area. Six hundred pairs of beady eyes, and one giant pair with a cataract as large as a man’s fist, shot to the top of the hill to see the appearance of five hundred Northern soldiers. Jaime let out a low chuckle when the Northerners immediately began to taunt the already frothing Wildings into a rage. The men of House Stark seemingly left their honor at Winterfell as they whistled, hollored, and bared their clenched teeth.

Jaime didn’t spot a single Wildling leader giving any sort of command or call to action, rather the entire force began a staggered charge uphill to their waiting opponents. 

“Wait until we’ve brought him clear of the area.” Jaime reminded Lyle and Major Krane, as their role was to lead the infantry into the rear of the Wildlings.

Getting a determined nod from his friend and the Major, Jaime turned his attention towards the long row of cavalry he was leading. Unconsciously, the Lannister felt for the three javelins attached to the saddle of his horse. Tywin had only sent light infantry to accompany the retinue heading North, so none of their equipment or horses were intended for smashing apart lines with heavy lances. Jaime yearned for a platoon of heavy cavalry that would decimate the barbarians and, perhaps, even run down the giant. Although, the speed and mobility afforded by the lighter steeds would prove more useful when luring away the great beast.

Seeing that the Wildlings had moved about halfway up the large hill and the giant was beginning a slow jog that shook the earth, Jaime gave his command, “Charge!”

A hundred Lannister cavalry broke forth from the tree line at the oblivious mob of Wildlings. Two squads had been assigned to strafe the giant and pepper it with missiles to gain its attention. Jaime led the rest of the riders in a looser formation that would strike at the rear of the raving Wildlings. Wanting to save his javelins for later, Jaime had his longsword at the ready and picked out a target among the chaos. Despite the wild galloping of his horse and the difficulty of wearing plate armor on horseback, Jaime timed his blow to perfectly decapitate a large savage. Jaime briefly saw the man’s head as it flew through the air and was amused to see that his wild sneer had not disappeared, as if he did not realize that the battle had already ended for him.

The knight sliced into a man’s shoulder and cleaved another Wilding’s head in two before he looked up to assess the situation with the giant. The cavalry showed the benefits of their training as they strafed just outside the reach of the beast and flung their javelins as they rode in a tight circle. Unfortunately, the giant’s skin and several animal hides served as decent protection from the missiles, and those that did hit must not have sunk very deep into his flesh. Jaime grimaced as the giant roared and threw the corpse of a Wildling at two of his riders. The men were trapped underneath the weight of their terrified horses, which gave the giant stationary targets to smash with his tree. Fortunately, their sacrifice allowed the rest of their riders to sink several javelins deep into his back and fan his rage to a new height.

“Bring him away!” Jaime called, as he slit the throat of a crazed woman with a spear and wheeled his horse around to charge away from the melee. Thankfully, most of the Wildlings were too incessed by the taunts of the Northerners to bother coming back down the hill to help those on the rear. The giant was cut off from his allies and Jaime was determined to increase the distance as he led his men further into the valley that the Wildings had been using to make camp.

Just as they hoped, the giant gave chase and Major Krane gave the order for the pikeman to begin their attack. The mob was fully engaged with the Northern forces at this point, so the Lannister infantry had free reign to take the best position possible. The Wildlings were so concerned with taking the hill that only a few of them realized that pikes as tall as their giant were about to be shoved up their backsides. A new wave of agonizing screams wrenched over the conflict, as the Western flank proved deadly to the Wildlings and skewered them before they could think of closing the distance. Lyle led a group of the most talented swordsmen among the infantry in stopping any stray Wildling from attacking the busy pikemen from the side. Still, even caught in this pincer attack, the ferocity of the Wildlings only grew as they fought for their lives. The numbers were certainly even at this point, and the allied forces had the clear advantage, but that might change if the giant were allowed to intervene. 

Jaime wanted to join his talented soldiers in showing the Wildlings no quarter, but the massive beast was proving difficult to take down. Four more men had been crushed by the beast when they tried to launch their volley of javelins in a strafing run. The beast was beginning to look like a pincushion, but it seemed that the effective range of the javelins was within the range of it’s deadly club.

Attempting a strafing run of his own, Jaime made a risk by closing the distance with the giant even closer than the men who had been crushed. The beast had several javelins sticking out of its back, legs, and arms; however, his mostly bare chest had not been struck once. Seeing it as a vital place without a layer of animal hide for protection, Jaime prepared to throw his own missile. The knight charged forward and waited until he had clearly gotten the attention of the monster. The giant raised its’ club and Jaime saw his opening as its’ untouched chest was completely exposed. Without delaying a second longer, Jaime threw his javelin and watched it pierce the beast with a splash of crimson. Immediately guiding his horse at an angle that would evade the giant’s swing, Jaime realized that he was unsuccessful when he was suddenly flying through the air.

Fortunately, the giant’s wild swing connected with the side of Jaime’s horse and not the Lannister knight. Unfortunately, the blow was still enough to immediately kill the loyal horse and send Jaime Lannister tumbling to the ground. It was impossible to tuck and roll when wearing full plate armor, but Jaime forced his aching body to jump off the ground as soon as the world stopped spinning. 

The knight had been launched out of the immediate reach of the giant, but the beast seethed with anger as it moved forward to kill the heir of Casterly Rock. Having no weapon on his person, Jaime saw no choice but to sprint to his dead horse, which just so happened to be between him and the rampaging giant. Addam Marbrand and a squad of riders bought Jaime a few precious seconds as they made their own strafing run and landed several javelins in back of the monster’s legs.

Jaime slid the few feet left to his bludgeoned horse and ruined saddle that Arya Stark had so dutifully prepared and desperately removed a javelin that hadn’t been broken in the fall. Adrenaline heightening his senses and dulling the pain, the Kingslayer prepared to meet his colossal foe. The giant now had a missile sticking out of nearly every inch of his back and shoulders. The blows to the legs seemed to be slowing his stride, but the sole javelin in his chest seemed to be the only hit that really hurt the monster. Jaime knew that his attack would need to strike a vital point if he wanted to save the lives of more of his men and, more importantly, himself.

The Kingslayer heard Addam Marbrand and several of his men screaming as the giant raised his club to bring down on the golden knight. With a loud grunt of exertion, Jaime rolled under the downwards blow at the last possible moment and stabbed upwards. Jaime had been aiming for the cold eyes of the giant, but they were just out of reach of the javelin. Thankfully, the neck was within reach and the monster’s unusually thick skin was unable to keep the sharp metal out of such a vulnerable spot. Jaime was forced to jump backwards, as the giant dropped his improvised weapon so that it could clamp both hands around the downpour of blood cascading from his neck.

Moving back to his fallen horse, Jaime fumbled with the partially covered sheath that contained his longsword. The other riders jumped on the opportunity to finish the beast, as they sent several javelins into the back of his knees. The Kingslayer turned just as the giant fell to the ground, while hysterically trying to keep both hands clamped on his gushing neck wound. Jaime ran forward and easily evaded a clumsy wave to ward him off. Still forced to extend his arm as high as possible, Jaime stabbed his sword into the face of the rampaging monster.

A moan croaked out of the giant’s mouth, as Jaime ripped his sword out of the area between nose and cheekbone. As soon as the sword was removed, Jaime had to step back to avoid the blood billowing out of the fresh face wound and now uncovered neck trauma. Catching his breath, Jaime stared almost in disbelief as the giant died on his knees.

Within seconds the sounds of galloping horses surrounded Jaime as a dozen of his men dismounted to check on their leader. Addam Marbrand led the charge to find the Lannister covered in giant’s blood and exhausted, but completely unharmed otherwise. The heir of Ashemark was also the first to loudly cheer for his leader’s accomplishment, but was quickly joined by all of the surrounding cavalry.

In that moment, surrounded by the adoration of his loyal soldiers, Jaime found himself being fifteen again. He had grand ambitions of becoming acclaimed across the land for his prowess with the sword, but so many people had tried to rob his destiny. The Lannister knight looked at the respect in the eyes of his men and thrived in his triumph.

‘I will build a dynasty. Not for a King, not for my Father, not for my Sister. I will have my name echo throughout history, because I have the ability to make it so.’

The Lannister was torn away from his revelry and new aspirations by the blast of a foreign horn. Jaime yelled for his men to be quiet as his head whipped around the opposite end of the battlefield. All traces of joy vanished from the group of Westerners as they watched a force of over one hundred cavalry appear on the same hill.

“That isn’t a Northern horn.” Addam immediately announced in a grave tone, as the group of men watched the unknown force charge the melee.

Jaime bellowed orders at his men to mount their horses and return to the fighting, but the foreign cavalry had advantages in that they were much closer to the fighting and moving at a full gallop. The Wildlings had been heavily diminished between the Northerners defending their homeland and the unstoppable wall of pikes, but they grew noticeably reinvigorated at the sight of the approaching riders.

Thankfully, Major Krane and Lyle noticed the approaching force in time to reorganize their pikes. Jaime watched the training of his soldiers pay off as they expertly shifted their line to meet the approach of the cavalry. Whoever was leading the cavalry charge must have recognized how deadly a wall of pikes would be to horses running at a full gallop and steered the brunt of their charge into the Northern flank. Jaime could do nothing as he watched the Northern soldiers get blindsided by the unexpected charge and ripped apart. In the confusion of the attack, the Wildlings either surged forward into the broken Northern lines or scattered to sprint away from the fighting.

The enemy riders didn’t spare the Northerners, Westerners, or Wildlings a second look as they continued their swift pace away from the conflict. Jaime strained to make out the sole banner carried by the riders and found his frown growing when he confirmed the sigil.

Addam Marbrand seemed to also recognize the symbol, as he asked, “What the fuck are the Second Sons doing in Westeros helping Wildlings?”

“I would quite literally kill to find out.” Jaime promised, as he watched the mercenary group continue to speed away.

“Should we give chase?” Addam asked.

“No.” Jaime immediately answered with a frown that showed his frustration, “Our men should still be able to defeat the Wildlings, but if we don’t assist there will be more casualties and even more may escape to regroup.”

Addam nodded at Jaime’s logic, “I’ll send a few men to stand guard in case they decide to come back for another charge. I’ll also see if I can find a Wildling that can give us some bloody answers.”

“What the fuck is happening in this land?” Jaime asked himself as he mounted a fresh horse that had been brought to him.

(-)

‘It’s amazing how low one’s standards can fall when away from home.’ Tyrion thought to himself as happily dunked a chunk of bread into a lukewarm stew. The inn at Harrowsfast was run by an older man and his likely touched in the head daughter. The girl seemed to drool at all waking hours, but Tyrion was pleasantly surprised by the taste of her cooking. Although, there might be a bit of leftover contentment from his activities the previous night that was clouding his judgement.

Regardless, Tyrion got to spend his morning in front of a roaring fire with a mostly warm meal, and there was even entertainment. The little Lannister observed Jon Snow staring at his uncle lecture their latest “recruit” on his new calling. The man had been found in bed with a girl no older than ten, but Benjen had convinced the good people of Harrowsfast that life on the Wall would be more deserving than a rope around the neck.

At this rate the Stark bastard was going to break his jaw with how tightly he was grating his teeth. Feeling the need to share some wisdom, Tyrion slid his mug of morning ale across his table to Jon. The drink made the bastard jump out of his heated stare and direct it towards the Southern noble.

“You’ll have to accept him as a brother. That is the point of your oath, is it not?” Tyrion questioned, as he imagined that if he fanned the flames high enough within the youth, then the rest of the journey might not be so cold.

Jon was quick to snap at the question, “What do you know of oaths, Lannister?”

Tyrion smiled as the seventeen year old took the bait, “Well, certainly not as much as the great Jon Snow. And I certainly envy you for the privilege. To think, you’ll have the honor to serve with such legends as Roland the Rapist and Horace the Horse Thief. Why if it wasn’t for this accursed body, I would trade places with you in an instant!”

“I’d never claim those animals as my kin!” Jon shouted, and Tyrion noticed that several of the new “recruits” also took notice of his declaration.

Seeing that this stupid boy would need all the luck possible in the near future, Tyrion decided to raise his hands in mock surrender and remove the satisfied smrik from his face. Although, it would take a lot more to stop Tyrion from talking.

“It really is ironic when you think about it.” Tyrion began to an only barely composed Jon Snow, “We decided that there were horrors so unimaginable that we needed to accomplish one of the largest architectural undertakings in recorded history. Your ancestors spent a ridiculous amount of resources to protect our Seven Kingdoms.”

Tyrion couldn’t tell by the bastard’s stare if his lecture had enthralled him or infuriated him, but the dwarf was more so talking to himself at this point. The young Lannister continued, “And what do we do with this massive fortification that was intended to ensure the safety of millions? We give the literal scum of the earth the job of keeping us safe. We take men that have been convicted of murder and rape, and we give them a sword!”

The Lannister couldn’t help but end his tirade with a boisterous laugh. Standing up, Tyrion walked around to Jon’s side of the table.

“Honestly,” Tyrion remarked, as he clapped a bewildered Jon on the shoulder, “I suppose in some ways it’s good that you’re going to the Wall. We need at least one good man up there making sure that the rest don’t just open the door for the Wildlings and join them in their mayhem.”

Tyrion didn’t wait to see the bastard’s reaction. Instead, he drained the mug of ale that Jon left untouched. The bastard continued to stare at the dwarf and seemed to be ready to finally respond to the older man, but whatever he intended to say was cut off, as a scream from outside the inn pierced the cold air.

All conversation in the inn stopped, as several more screams followed the first. Tyrion watched as one of his trusted guards walked to the door with a hand on his sword. Just as the man was reaching for the door, it was kicked inwards and an axe was slammed into the guard’s skull. The room exploded as Wildlings in torn animal hides rushed in with a random assortment of weapons.

Benjen Stark and Jon Snow wasted no time in jumping to their feet with weapons drawn. The bastard ran to meet the first savage that had killed Tyrion’s guard, while Benjen screamed for the other Watchmen to join them in battle. Surprising absolutely no one, the new recruits ran in every direction, except for the one that held the dangerous savages. Tyrion would have laughed if he wasn’t cowering in the corner of the inn with his one remaining guard blocking anyone from approaching his lord.

Tyrion pulled out his treasured valyrian steel dagger, as he watched Jon and Benjen easily dispatch the rabid Wildlings. Tyrion’s guard, Tybalt, was able to cut down any of the barbarians that made it past the deadly uncle and son duo. Yet, the Wildings were still flooding into the inn with no end in sight, and Tyrion spotted a smaller savage attempting to flank his already busy guard.

As the man was rushing up, Tyrion stuck out his blade and caught the man in the thigh. The blade tore through flesh like a knife through butter and the Wilding fell with a painful yelp. Watching the man bleed out and convulse on the floor, Tyrion paled as he realized that he had just taken a life and was caught off guard when he was suddenly knocked to the ground. Tyrion expected to see the snarling maw of a Wildling, but instead it was the pox ridden face of Roland the Rapist sneering at the Lannister.

“I’ll be needing your gold, Lion!” The man screamed as he pulled back with a dagger of his own, but Tyrion’s loyal guard interceded by stabbing the prospective Watch member through the stomach.

Unfortunately, Tybalt had abandoned his fight with a Wildling to save his master and was immediately stabbed in the back after saving Tyrion. The dwarf found himself crushed by the corpse of his loyal guard and unable to reach his weapon with the Wildling looming overhead.

Tyrion closed his eyes, as the Wildling raised his rusted shortsword and the dwarf waited for the end of his life. A moment later, Tryion felt a spray of blood cover his face and the weight on his tiny frame increase.

The Lannister opened his eyes to see Jon Snow pulling the corpses of the Wildling and his guard off of him.

(-)

So as to not worry about her brother riding off to war, Sansa threw herself into making preparations. It had been only a few hours since the allied soldiers marched from Winterfell; however, Sansa had already organized several soup kitchens and prepared temporary lodgings. The young Stark knew that the patrols spreading through the countryside would be warning people of the Wildling threat and advising them to take refuge in a holdfast.

In only a few hours, Winterfell will be swarmed with refugees that need a place to sleep and something to keep the cold at bay. Having always felt at peace when cooking, Sansa joined the servants in one of the impromptu kitchens in the courtyard. The girl needed a distraction. If left to her own devices, Sansa would think of the danger her brother was in, her mother still being unresponsive, and her other brother in a deep sleep that he would likely never wake from.

For hours, Sansa escaped through the menial tasks of peeling potatoes and chopping vegetables. There was a small lapse in work when the servants and volunteers ran out of produce and more had to be fetched from Winterfell’s store rooms. Sansa gave the order for the delivery to be made and gratefully sank back onto a wooden stool. 

Allowing herself to breathe a sigh of relief, Sansa almost forgot that she was not alone. The leader of the Western soldiers set to guard her, Sergeant Marx, was standing beside the wooden stand with a kind smile on his slightly wrinkled face.

“You have a way with the people, My Lady.” The Sergeant sincerely complimented his Northern charge.

Sansa gave the man a grateful smile and replied, “They just need to see that their leaders care enough to put in the same effort. You must be used to Ser Jaime doing the same?”

The older man laughed slightly and was happy to answer her, “Lord Lannister certainly takes a hands on approach, but between the two of us, I often think he’d rather do everything himself.”

The young Stark woman was touched by the affection and devotion Jaime inspired in his soldiers. She also found herself interested in the life of this common man in the Lannister army. All Northerners had heard the tales of luxury and depravity that Southern nobles seemed to excel in, but the girl had no insight for how a peasant fared.

“Where are you from, Sergeant?” Sansa asked.

“Lannisport, my Lady.” The soldier answered with a small nostalgic smile on his lips, “My family goes back several generations in that city.”

Sansa smiled at his cooperation, “Do you come from a family of military men?”

“Oh, no.” The soldier was quick to correct, “My father and grandfather owned a few modest fishing vessels. I’m the fourth of four sons, so there wasn’t a lot of room for me in the family business. Besides, the stink of fish is far harder to remove than the stench of blood.”

The Stark laughed at the man’s joke and he seemed incredibly pleased with his accomplishment. The servants had returned with a fresh load of food, but Sansa waved for them to continue without her, so she could continue this conversation.

“I imagine it must be exciting to travel, as well.” Sansa ventured, “Are you being stationed with Ser Jaime in King’s Landing?”

The soldier gave another chuckle at that, “Yes, I will be; however, I doubt the Lord Lannister will want to spend any more time in that city than is necessary.”

Sansa didn’t understand the soldier’s reasoning and was quick to ask him for an explanation, “What do you mean? Does the King plan on sending Ser Jaime somewhere?”

A hint of panic flashed through the soldier’s eyes and he blanched as if he had made a mistake, “My apologies, Lady Stark.” Sergeant Marx stammered, “It’s just some soldier gossip.”

“Well you know ladies love their gossip.” Sansa attempted to put the guard at ease, but made sure that her tone was firm enough to dissuade the guard from further evading.

Marx still seemed reluctant to share, but he acquiesced, “Well, several of the officers have been saying that the purpose of our being here is to escort Lord Lannister to Casterly Rock once he has finished his business with the King.”

“Finish his business?” Sansa laughed at the thought, “A Kingsguard has an eternal duty.”

“That would normally be the case.” The guard admitted, before leaning in slightly to share the rest of the story, “But people have been saying that the crown is in a dangerous amount of debt. A good portion of it is to Lord Tywin himself, so the King agreed to release Jaime from his vows to ease the burden of debt.”

For once, Sansa didn’t care about propriety and let her jaw fall open in shock. The situation was bizarre, sure, but not that unexpected. It was a bad kept secret that Robert Baratheon was steadily whoring and drinking his way through the royal treasury, which had led to several sizable loans from Tywin Lannister. It was also well known that Robert detested his brother in law and would do anything to be rid of his presence. No, Sansa wasn’t shocked that Jaime was being freed from his vows to the Kingsguard, she was stunned at the consequences of such an action.

Tywin Lannister would have his golden son returned to Casterly Rock. For years, the nobility across the Seven Kingdoms had mocked the Old Lion for being seemingly forced to leave behind his domain to a dwarf. Sansa quite liked Lord Tyrion from their few interactions, but going from the menacing Tywin to the drunken Tyrion was quite a step down for the West. Jaime being the nex Lord Paramount of the West was an entirely different situation. Every lord from the deserts of Dorne to the rocky shores of the Iron Islands would be fighting for the honor to engage their daughters to the Lannister dynasty.

Unable to help herself, Sansa turned a wonderful shade of red, as she imagined her earlier fantasy concerning Jaime Lannister.

‘Does it have to remain a fantasy?’ The young woman longingly asked herself, as the tactical and emotional sides of her brain clashed over the possibilities.

The kind Sergeant was about to ask if the silent noblewoman was alright, but he was distracted when the large gates of Winterfell swung open as the sentries announced the arrival of friendly riders. Sansa and the Sergeant looked at the new arrivals, expecting the first group of refugees or a patrol returning early, but they were met with the small retinue of Torrhen Karstark.

Sansa almost sighed at the young man frantically searching the courtyard. When Torrhen’s eyes found Sansa the panic didn’t leave them, but he did dismount from his horse to rush over to the Stark.

“I assume you came to join the men riding North to battle the Wildlings?” Sansa asked with a small smirk, knowing full well that was not the young noble’s reason for being here.

With an almost embarrassed and apologetic shaking of the head, the second son of Rickard Karstark answered, “I was actually hoping to speak with your sister.”

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Sansa was half tempted to reprimand the man for chasing after a girl when barbarians were burning their land. Yet, Sansa remembered the passionate look in Arya’s eyes whenever she would bring up the Karstark son and couldn’t bring herself to dislike the man for taking an interest in her sister.

Her mind drifting back to Jaime Lannister, Sansa inwardly thought, ‘And besides, maybe my sister will get her wish afterall.’

“She’s in the Godswood.” Sansa answered, and shared a small smile with the young man.

Torrhen gave Sansa a small bow, “Thank you, Lady Sansa.”

Sansa nodded, while the man hopped back onto his horse and immediately made way to Arya’s location.

“That boy is smitten” Marx remarked as they watched the small retinue depart.

The older Stark daughter chuckled and replied, “Let’s just hope those two don’t get carried away. There is a war going on.”

(-)

Holding Needle in the grip taught to her by Jaime, Arya gritted her teeth as she stared down the ugly mug of her opponent. Feeling a surge of adrenaline hide her flight or fight response, Arya decided to use the anger to come away from this battle unscathed. Channeling her rage, Arya stabbed forward with all of her strength, but the older man easily parried her blow and knocked the girl to the ground.

Immediately upon hitting the ground, a chorus of laughter echoed around the girl, as she glared up at the Western guard. The man, one of the Lannister soldiers ordered to guard her, looked down at his charge with an encouraging grin and offered Arya a hand.

“You certainly put a lot of strength behind your attacks, Lady Arya.” The man attempted to compliment the visibly frustrated teenage girl.

Despite wanting to smack his hand away, Arya accepted the help and responded as she was being pulled to her feet, “I’m still trying to find out what fighting style works best for me.”

Clearly being less afraid to mock the girl, one of the two Northern guards also with them in the Godswood yelled, “Well, I hope you haven’t decided on that one!”

The two Northerners burst into deep laughter and even the polite Western guard was unable to stop from chuckling. Arya had half a mind to challenge the guard who thought himself to be hilarious, but she was stopped by the approach of footsteps.

Looking over her shoulder, Arya’s frustration morphed into a wide grin as she saw Torrhen Karstark approaching with his arms wide open.

“Torrhen!” Arya happily yelled, as she sheathed Needle and jumped into his open arms.

The Karstark reciprocated the hug and nearly crushed the young girl against him. Not breaking the hug, Arya looked up at the young man and asked, “What are you doing here? Have the Wildlings been spotted at Karhold?”

Torrhen shook his head with a small smile and answered, “I came for you, Arya. We finally have our chance!”

Not understanding his meaning, Arya questioned further, “What are you talking about, Torrhen?”

Pulling her back into the hug, Torrhen whispered, “We can finally be free together.” The Stark girl didn’t notice Torrhen raise his right arm and clench his fist. As soon as the gesture was complete, a hail of arrows struck Arya’s guards.


	4. Breaking a Siege in the North

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gotta start off by saying thank you to everyone for showing such fantastic support for this story! Positive reviews really do help motivate me to keep churning out this content. Also, I wanted to thank Leanna for recommending that I post this onto AO3. I’m really appreciating this community. Now let’s jump back in!

There was a palpable air of tension within the solar of Eddard Stark. The Lord Paramount of the North’s eldest daughter anxiously sat in a seat flush against the wall, as she stared at the other two occupants in the room. Robb Stark and Jaime Lannister, both still dressed in their full suits of armor, were waiting with the young woman. Robb stood at one of the windows overlooking the courtyard of Winterfell; his brow was scrunched in an intense stare and Sansa had been forced to not so politely remind him several times to stop pacing. Jaime Lannister, on the other hand, was the definition of calm. The Lannister knight had sat in a wooden chair before a fire for nearly an hour; all the while simply twirling Arya’s discarded Needle.

Needle. All Sansa had to do was see that the treasured sword was left behind to understand that Arya’s departure was not one of her own volition. The knight holding the blade had said very little upon returning and Sansa felt a little desperate to take comfort in the usual warmth of his voice. It would be so tempting to sprint away from the title of Lady Stark and throw herself into the protection of someone else, but Sansa could never allow herself to be that weak. No, Sansa would lean on others, but not allow herself to be wholly dependent on their aid.

Before the allied forces had returned, Sansa and Maester Luwin had sent out a flurry of summons and reports. There was still no reply from her father, but the Stark girl hoped that he would return in light of the recent circumstances.

“He’s here.” Robb’s weary voice broke the silence, and Sansa frowned at her brother’s obvious discomfort and exhaustion.

‘By the Seven, stiffen your spine and act like the future leader of our house.’ Sansa inwardly swore as she looked at her brother’s weakness and hated herself for condemning her kin for showing understandable vulnerabilities. She loved her brother, but it maddened her that he was seemingly incapable of appropriately handling this situation. With their father absent, mother indisposed, and Robb’s constant insecurities; Sansa was left propping up her brother and holding Winterfell together. By the lack of color in his face, Sansa imagined that she would have to continue that habit.

It wasn’t long before the loud stomping of boots began to approach the solar. Robb turned from the window and Sansa sat up more straight, but Jaime didn’t change his movements at all. Only a moment passed before Lord Rickard Karstark pushed the door open and rushed into the room with a wild look about him.

“I demand to know who has been slandering my family name!” The Lord of Karhold immediately shouted upon entering the room.

Sansa looked to Robb, as it was his duty to demand penance from their vassal, but the young man shied away under the intense gaze of the enraged Rickard. Instead, it was the Kinsguard who had barely acknowledged the presence of the old lord that was first to respond.

Jaime didn’t stop his staring at the small fire when he spoke aloud, “Two hundred and seventy four Northern soldiers dead. Another one hundred and eight Northerners wounded. I lost sixteen of my own cavalry and another eighteen from my own infantry. Gods know how many paupers will be gutted over a sheep. And it’s all thanks to a conspiracy crafted by your son.”

Rickard’s grim face had gradually swelled with rage over the course of Jaime’s ranting, and he exploded once the knight was finished, “Don’t you dare insult my family, Lannister!”

Robb finally took that moment to ask one of the many questions they had for the vassal of House Stark, “Lord Karstark, how many times has your son journeyed to the Wall in the last year?”

“You dare interrogate me boy?” The wild and incredulous tone taken by Karstark seemed to push Robb further away. The enraged lord looked quickly between the cool Lannister and frightened Robb, before taunting, “Does your father know that you’re bowing and scraping to the whims of this Southern prick?”

That seemed to ignite a bit of fire in the teenage lord’s eyes. Robb grinded his teeth and attempted to continue in a diplomatic tone, “We have several different Wildling captives all telling us the same story. That a young noble met with a Wildling chief that had discovered a gold vein North of the Wall. In exchange for their gold and assistance, this noble excavated one of the ruined tunnels in one of the old keeps along the Wall.”

The veins around Lord Karstark’s head seemed close to bursting as he snarled back, “Are you turning against your own kin? You spit on the centuries of shared history between our families, so you can appease this fucki-”

“Enough!” Sansa’s steady voice entered the conversation for the first time, as she effectively ended Rickard’s tirade and drew his stunned attention.

“Lord Karstark you are right.” Sansa quickly continued before for the Northern lord could begin shouting again, “You are family to my own and your lineage has always nobly served my House since your ancestor changed his name from Stark to Karstark. Yet, you stand before us today and insult your liege lords and their honored guests!”

Rickard seems momentarily cowed, but before he can begin to blabber a retort, Sansa pressed the momentary reprieve, “Your son has committed a grave offense against our family. Shame has been brought to your name and your relationship with those you call kin, but you stand there and accuse others of being dishonest.” 

The Northern lord seemed entranced by the cold tone Sansa addressed him in, but he visibly flinched when she ended her own lecture by allowing a small scream to break though her icy demeanor, “Your son kidnapped my sister!”

A horrible silence filled the room as Rickard stared at the young woman who had only been cordial and pleasant to him in the past. Sansa stood at her full height and did not let her eyes waver as she stared down the man.

Again, it was Jaime Lannister who first spoke, “Do I need to remind you that wars have started over Stark daughters being kidnapped?”

Rickard Karstark looked slightly shaken as his lack of allies and gravity in the room dawned on him, but he eventually managed to respond, “What do you plan to do to my son?”

Jaime lets out a laugh devoid of humor and taunted, “Well, it’s not like we can have him take the Black. There might be a conflict of interest.”

Karstark looked ready to pull his sword after that jab, but he managed to look to Robb and Sansa for an answer.

The young lord sighed as he saw the desperation within the man’s eyes and inwardly prayed that he would never experience the loss of a child. “If he comes willingly and my sister is unharmed, then I can promise him a fair trial.” Robb answered the older man with a soft voice.

“And if he chooses a trial by combat?” Rickard asked with the frantic hope of a parent trying to save a child.

Seeing her brother softening and growing uncomfortable by the man’s desolation, Sansa stepped in to answer with a tight voice that betrayed no emotion, “That will be decided by our father. But if he does not return or can not give an answer for whatever reason, we’ve asked Ser Jaime to represent the Crown and House Stark as our champion.”

The Lord of Karhold slumped into his chair and Sansa was sure that the older might begin to cry. The rage had all but disappeared from his frame and the passion that gave him such a presence was nowhere to be found. Rickard’s eyes began to pinch as his body deflated and he very much looked his age in that moment. At that moment, they were witnessing a father trying to accept the death of his son. He surely didn’t have an ounce of respect or love for the Kingslayer, but he knew of Jaime Lannister’s reputation. On equal footing, it would take another warrior of legend to survive crossing swords with the Lannister knight.

There was no course of action that would allow the continuation of Torrhen Karstark’s life. Even if the brash boy came to his senses and surrendered or survived the impending conflict, he would face the justice of a Northern trial. Being at the center of a conspiracy to kidnap a daughter of Eddard Stark, while also opening the door to a Wildling invasion would ensure that the verdict is death. Ironically, if the Lannisters weren’t present, Torrhen might have had a chance in a trial by combat, but Jaime’s surprising willingness to represent the Starks as champion squashed any hope of the young man’s survival.

It was a few moments later, before Rickard asked, “Will my son’s blood wash away the debt of my House?”

Robb looked like he was about to comfort the man, but Sansa subtly shook her head at her brother and continued taking over, “Again, we will need to discuss this further with our father, but it is likely that House Karstark will be sanctioned with some sort of monetary fine for this transgression.”

The Northern lord didn’t answer, instead, he reached over to the small table beside Jaime and grabbed the wing glass sitting atop it. The Starks and Lannister watched the Karstark drain the nearly full glass in a single gulp.

Upon finishing, Rickard slammed the cup back in front of the Southerner and some disdain was back in his voice when he asked, “Then if there’s nothing else, I’ll depart to inform my wife that we have one less son.”

There were no farewells exchanged as Rickard Karstark walked defiantly out of the room, but his earlier rage was clearly gone.

The door had barely closed before Robb turned on Jaime with a frustrated voice, “Was it really necessary to antagonize him?”

The Lannister met Robb’s gaze and finally stopped twirling Arya’s discarded weapon, “He was in denial and needed a wakeup call. My taunts cut through his paranoia and gave him a channel for his anger. We would be listening to his screaming and accusations for far longer if he didn’t get it out of his system early on.”

The acting Lord Stark threw his hands in the air and turned his back on the Lannister’s explanation. With a sigh that filled the room and shouldn’t belong to someone so young, Robb collapsed into his father’s chair and mumbled, “Maybe we should have demanded that he send soldiers to Harrowfast, as well.”

Sansa found herself shaking her head again and moving to place a hand on Robb’s shoulder, “We have over two thousand soldiers ready to liberate Harrowfast from the Wildlings and the Second Sons. Adding Karstark men to the mix could just further ignite things.”

The Wildling captives had all agreed that their fallback position was Harrowfast. Being a small holdfast that rarely receives visitors that people wouldn’t notice immediately go missing, it was considered a safe position to take temporary refuge. As soon as the Wildlings mentioned the name, Maester Luwin sent several ravens to the old keep, but the lack of a response is what verified their claims. Even though over a hundred Wildlings had survived the encounter with the allied forces and linked up with other invaders and the Second Sons, the main forces of House Stark would be more than enough to liberate a small keep like Harrowdast.

Jaime took that moment to rise from his seat and announce, “If we are riding out in the morning, then I need to get out of this armor and see if I can find some sleep. I suggest that you do the same, Lord Robb.”

Robb nods at the Kingslayer’s suggestion, feeling his own exhaustion begin to overpower him, but Sansa addressed the knight as he was leaving, “Ser Jaime, you’ve already done our family an incredible service by putting yourself and your men at risk. We can’t ask you to do it again.”

The young Stark woman felt her heart quicken when those green eyes moved to train on her and that dashing smile emerged, “You don’t need to ask me anything, Lady Sansa. You have gathered enough soldiers that my men won’t be needed, but I made a vow to your father that I would protect his children with my life. I promise you now that I will see this through and return your sister.”

With that, the Kinglsayer tipped his head toward the Starks and left the room far more quietly than Lord Karstark. Sansa stared after the retreating form of the Lannister knight and was immensely grateful that her brother was already nodding off with his head in hands, because she was sure that her cheeks were flushed with blood.

Sansa had been a wreck since word had come that her sister was missing and she saw the massacre that had been left behind. For hours, the Stark daughter agonized over her decision to tell Torrhen of her sister’s location and dreaded that her action may have sealed the fate of her sister. Yet, Jaime Lannister needed to only speak to her for a moment and Sansa felt her anxiety vanish. Just one promise from the Kingslayer and Sansa was able to confidently believe that Arya would be safely returned.

(-)

Sansa hid a flurry of curses under her breath as she navigated the corridors of Winterfell that would lead her to the guest wing. The woman felt as if somebody else was controlling her body. It had barely been an hour since the Stark girl had seen the Lannister knight, but her anxiety had noticeably risen since his absence and she was desperate to once again put herself at ease. Like two magnets pulling themselves toward one another, Sansa found herself inexplicably drawn to the comfort the older man seemed to radiate. Yet, it might seem a bit suspect if Sansa Stark began banging on Jaime Lannister’s door late in the night for a conversation.

Purposefully slowing her walk, Sansa deeply pondered what would be a decent enough excuse to invite herself into Jaime’s chambers at the late hour.

‘He seemed inclined to talk about the politics of his homeland when I brought it up at dinner?’ Sansa inwardly thought, while she gave her muscle memory the chore of maneuvering the halls of Winterfell, as her mind was far too preoccupied for the task, “But that’s the kind of conversation you have over tea, not an hour before midnight after coming home from a battle.’

Sansa gave a sharp gasp as she snapped her fingers at the onset of an idea.

‘That’s it!’ The redhead inwardly rejoiced, ‘We can discuss possible improved accommodations or rewards for his men who fought so valiantly on behalf of House Stark. Surely he’d be interested in that discussion and this is something that really should be done to commend their bravery.’

With a satisfied smirk, Sansa unconsciously quickened her pace to the point that she almost skipped to Jaime’s chambers, all so she could faster soak in the presence of the knight. Although, it took Sansa by surprise when she turned a corner and came across one of Winterfell’s many servants struggling to carry a large copper pitcher. 

Seeing that the serving girl was straining with the weight, Sansa asked, “What are you carrying there?”

The woman startled slightly at the sudden question from Sansa, but she recovered quickly and did her best attempt at a curtsy while holding a heavy object. Between short breaths, the girl managed to get out, “Ice for Ser Jaime, m’lady.” Seeing her mistress raise an eyebrow at her answer, the girl continued explaining, “I’m nor sure why, but he has requested several large pitchers of ice.”

In most areas of the world, ice is considered an exclusive luxury. It’s not uncommon for Southerners to put shaved ice in their drinks as a means of flaunting their wealth. Obviously, ice is a commodity that the North is rarely without, but Northern lords generally prefer a warm drink that takes their mind off the cold elements.

Sansa found herself curious as to the reason for the Lannister’s demand for ice, but even better, she now had the perfect excuse to call on the man. The Stark ignored the servant’s feeble protests and took the jug from her arms and immediately understood her earlier distress. The pitcher full of ice weighed a staggering amount and Sansa was deeply thankful that the door to Jaime’s chambers was just down the hall.

It took the Stark woman a minute to rest the weight of the pitcher on her hip, so she would have a free hand to bang on the door. After taking a moment to come up with a remark that was appropriately witty enough to greet a Lannister, Sansa gave the door a confident knock.

As soon as the door began to open, Sansa spoke, “Perhaps you could explain why you have my servants ruining their backs to deliv-” but the Stark was cut off when the door fully opened to reveal one Jaime Lannister in a state of undress.

If it hadn't been for the sudden abduction of her sister and relief at seeing her brother unscathed, Sansa’s face would have been comparative to a bonfire when she saw Jaime Lannister return from battle in all his knightly glory. Although, no past experience or raunchy day dream could have prepared the young woman for a slightly undressed Lannister knight.

To be specific, Jaime had on a pair of tight trousers that ended just under his knees, while his upper half was only covered by a loosely tied robe. Sansa felt all common sense leave her as she got a glimpse of the smooth muscle only barely contained by that robe.

“Um-” Was the poetic response Sansa managed to ground out, as Jaime looked at her first with surprise rather than his typical smug amusement, but his countenance shifted again to concern when the girl stumbled and lost her grip on the heavy jug.

The sarcastic comment on the tip of Jaime’s tongue was delayed when he saw the flash of panic in the redhead’s eyes. Leaning forward with surprising speed for a man his size, Jaime caught the heavy pitcher before it crashed on the ground.

Sansa was going to thank the Kingslayer for stopping the heavy object from landing on her toes, but the sight of his slipping robe took precedent in her brain. It wasn’t the exposure of more sculpted muscle that engrossed the Stark woman, although that certainly was nothing to be upset about, but rather the horribly dark bruises that contrasted so painfully with his tan skin. Either Jaime didn’t notice her infatuation, while juggling with the container of ice, or he was too polite to address it.

Jaime brought the jug to a small table within his room, while explaining over his shoulder, “I hope I didn’t place too large a burden on your staff. It’s just that after the events of today I could use a quick dip in an ice bath.”

The knight turned to see that Sansa had closed the door behind her and quickly closed the distance between the two of them. As always, his mouth prepared to launch a witty remark, but the intense focus within her visage stalled the normally cocky Kingslayer. Jaime gasped and Sansa refused to meet his eyes as she slowly tugged open the lapels of his robe to reveal the man’s impressive physique that was marred with horrendous bruising. 

“They say you killed a giant today.” Sansa murmured as she subconsciously rose a hand to gently touch his chest.

Jaime let out a soft wince when Sansa made contact, but it was more from the anticipation of pain than any real suffering. The woman had a wonderfully gentle touch that made Jaime believe it was a feather lightly tracing his injuries instead of the eldest daughter of the most powerful man in the North. It was the sharp outtake of air that forced Sansa to meet the older man’s eyes; however, the gentle motions of her hands did not halt for an instant.

The knight swallowed at the unwavering stare in the Stark daughter’s eyes when she asked, “Did it do this?”

Oh, Sansa had heard all about Jaime’s slaying of a giant. Not long after the allied forces had returned, and the initial shock over Arya’s disappearance faded, Sansa wanted all the details concerning the battle. She managed to corner Addam Marbrand and Rodrik Cassel for a full debrief. The woman inwardly screamed when she heard that Jaime faced off against a giant, but the newfound looks of respect and admiration even the most stubborn Northerners sent towards Jaime made him putting himself in danger almost worth it. Almost.

The knight found himself struggling to answer the woman. The blushing young lady that knocked on his door moments ago had disappeared. Sansa was almost absentmindedly exploring every inch of his chest, and it certainly was having an effect on him, but there was no desire within her eyes. The woman’s wonderful gaze was entirely devoid of lust and Jaime wrestled with what he did see in her. There was genuine compassion, but more so, a frightening amount of concern. Jaime could handle lust, hell, he almost preferred it. But nobody had ever made it known that their thoughts solely focused on his well-being. The Lannister had never been more aroused.

Finally finding his voice again, Jaime uttered, “It was more like gravity was the culprit.” The Lannster was beginning to grow used to Sansa’s touch and was certainly not going to encourage her to stop.

Sansa spent a moment more silently tracing the strong muscles beneath her fingers, before remarking, “They say that a giant hasn’t been slain in almost ten thousand years.”

“Well now that we know they exist, I’m sure that some Wildling got lucky in the past ten thousand years.” Jaime chuckled at the thought, “Besides, it’s not like I was alone. I’d be dead if my men hadn’t been there to distract the beast.”

Within an instant, Sansa’s gentle touch disappeared as she almost clutched frantically at the knight’s chest after his remark. Jaime almost gasped at the now grave look in the Stark woman’s eyes when she gazed up at him, “Please, don’t say that, not even in jest.”

Finding himself at a loss for words, Jaime merely watched in wonder as tears seemed to build in the woman’s eyes before she buried her head against his chest. Sansa felt some comfort in being able to hear the steady rhythm of his heart, but it was when he placed his hands around her that she felt her fears evaporate. A moment passes as the two hold one another, before Sansa admits, “I hate the idea of you not returning. Whether it be because you are called away to serve the king or your family. It’s all terrible, but I especially detest the idea of you not returning from war.”

In complete awe of the woman in his arms, Jaime was barely aware of his response, “Oh, my sweet Queen. I doubt anything could ever stop me from returning to you.”

Sansa felt her own heart stop and then begin again at such a pace that she would surely consider unhealthy at any other time if it wasn’t for every other aspect of her being assuring her that she was more safe than she had even been before. Stopping herself before she did something regrettable was one of the most difficult decisions Sansa has ever had to make, but with an inward groan that would rival the vocal abilities of the giant killed by Jaime, the Stark girl succeeded in taking a step away from the warmth of the Lannister.

Now blushing and grinning like an idiot, Sansa forced herself to look anywhere but the intense gaze of the older man. Her eyes finding the several forgotten jugs of ice, Sansa asked, “You said something earlier about an ice bath?”

“Yes,” Jaime was quick to respond, as he brought himself out of his own inner fantasy, “Once the excitement of battle wore off, I began to realize how thoroughly bruised my body was from tumbling off a horse. I learned long ago that a frigid bath would speed up the healing process and ease any discomfort.”

It was at that moment that Sansa realized that the door to the adjoining bathroom was open and the modestly sized tub was already half full of ice.

“Are you sure this is wise?” Sansa asked, as she found herself approaching the tub and instinctively flinching away from the cold radiating out of the icy water. “I’ve seen men fall to frostbite when wrapped in several layers of thick animal fur. Maybe you should see a Maester?”

Jaime found himself grinning at the concern in her voice and happily explained, “I met with your man, Luwin, maybe half an hour ago. He agreed that this was a suitable treatment.” Of course, the Maester had also insisted that the Lannister avoid any strenuous activities for at least a week, but Jaime had other obligations to see to and annoying body aches weren’t going to stop him.

Still, Sansa warily glanced back and forth between Jaime and the frigid bath. Seeing that the girl wasn’t entirely convinced, Jaime added, “I’ll only be in there for a few minutes. Then I’ll hop out and dive beneath some warm pelts in front of the fire.” He gestured towards the roaring fire in the main room.

Sansa still seemed reluctant, but she sighed and began to roll up the sleeves of her dress, “I suppose we should get to it, then.”

Flabbergasted at the idea of her helping him take a bath, even an ice bath, Jaime was quick to say, “That’s not necessary, Lady Sansa. I’m sure a servant could easily assist me.”

The redhead found herself surprisingly upset that Jaime had resorted back to courtesy instead of referring to her as a Queen. Allowing some of her frustration to show, Sansa cocked an eyebrow and dismissively responded, “Well, if a servant can do it then I should have no problem.” The girl nodded down to the Lannisters’ odd choice of undergarments, “I assumed those are to keep yourself modest?”

For the first time in years, Jaime found himself being embarrassed and could only nod in response to the young woman. Sansa picked up one of the jugs of ice and brought it to the lip of the bath, “Then let’s not waste any more time.”

Letting out a small exasperated laugh at her determination, Jaime shook his head and shrugged off his robe. Sansa gulped at the sight of the half-naked Lannister. If her mother wasn’t basically catatonic or if her father were present, the Stark parents would have a heart attack at seeing the situation their little girl had put herself in. Sansa knew that her face had once again turned brighter than the hottest dragonfire and that her actions were decidedly improper for a noble woman, but she found herself not caring. The woman had begrudgingly forced herself to keep her hands off the man, but she would be damned if she was going to look away from a fallen angel when one presented itself!

The eldest Stark daughter had several male siblings and had seen them undressed at several stages in their lives, but no physique of a boy or teenager could ever hope to compare to the muscles of Jaime Lannister. Sansa had earlier found herself often swooning over the broad shoulders of the knight, which were perfectly accompanied by his impressive arms and strong chest. The woman enjoyed the view as her eyes trailed down to the tight muscles making up the Lannister’s stomach and the deep V that disappeared into his shorts. And there was a sizable presence barely hidden within that cloth that had Sansa briefly reconsider this plan.

Fortunately, Sansa’s thoroughly scandalous train of thought was disrupted when Jaime took a step into the bath of freezing ice water. Every muscle strained and his body was covered in goosebumps the moment the knight’s foot made contact with the water. The man took several deep breaths, as he laid down in the tub and began to submerge himself.

“The first one, please?” Jaime asked, as he began to shiver in the tub. Sansa’s lust began to recede when she saw the discomfort in the older man and she frowned when he flinched at her dumping the ice into the bath. The Lannister forced himself to spread his limbs around the bath and nodded at Sansa to continue the treatment. 

Three uncomfortable minutes passed as Jaime soaked his bruised body in the frozen water before jumping out of the water and quickly walked over to the fire. Sansa followed the Kingslayer as he crouched into a small nest of furs before the flames and wrapped his arms around his shivering form. Sansa was only a step behind him as she draped a thick animal skin around his shoulders and immediately pressed herself into his back. The young woman patted and rubbed his upper torso as she ensured warmth returned to the man’s body.

Feeling the pleasant heat radiating from her chest and soft movements of her arms, while also catching glimpses of her gorgeous long locks of red hair sweep around him during her movements, started a fire of a different kind within the Kingslayer.

“Gods, you’re perfect.” Jaime complimented between chattering teeth.

Sansa felt her mouth beginning to hurt from smiling at his compliments. A few more moments passed and she asked the man, “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“A cup of wine would be appreciated?” Jaime responded, but softly groaned as Sansa moved from her position to pour the Lannister a cup from the end table by the bed. Still shaking slightly, Jaime looked over his shoulder and added, “And one for yourself?”

Certainly feeling like she could use it, Sansa poured a second glass and moved back to sit beside the Kingslayer. Jaime gratefully took the cup from her, but had to wait as his trembling hands were sloshing the wine at a dangerously high level.

Taking a sip from her glass for a bit of courage, Sansa asked the burning question at the back of her mind, “Why are you leaving the Kingsguard?” 

The Lannister’s body temperature had recovered enough at this point that Jaime was able to sit still for a moment, as he considered how to answer the noble woman’s question. Deciding to use the own girl’s words that ignited his infatuation, Jaime repeated, “Have you ever been destined for one thing your entire life without being given a choice?”

Sansa felt her heart break at the distant look in Jaime’s normally joyful eyes, as he stared into the fire. The Kingslayer continued, “I’ve spent too many years serving the ambition and cruelties of another man. It’s time that I take my own destiny into my hands and create something that has meaning to me. For so long I had no idea what that would look like, but after the events of today I think I know what direction I want to go in.”

‘By the Old and the New, please take me with you there.’ Sansa wanted so badly to confess right then and there. The Stark woman wanted so badly to embrace the man whose demeanor shifted from some tormented nostalgia to a determined vigor. Sansa allowed herself to bury her head in the nook of Jaime’s neck and spend a few moments breathing in his scent and feeling her passion somehow manage to heighten even further when he leaned his head on top of her own.

Unfortunately, this was not the right time and Sansa bitterly accepted that fact. Without a word the Stark woman drained what remained in her wine glass and rose towards the door.

“Will you see me off in the morning?” Jaime asked, startling himself at the vulnerability he allowed Sansa to witness.

“No.” Sansa stated bluntly, but looked over her shoulder to bless the Kingslyer with a dazzling smile, “Why would I when I know that you’re coming back to me?”

(-)

Once again, Jaime stood in the Lord Stark’s solar for another war council. The Lannister’s mind was racing after Sansa had left his chambers last night, but his overall exhaustion had led to a deep sleep that rejuvenated his strength. Robb Stark, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have slept as well as the older knight. Jaime imagined that yesterday was the first time Robb had personally taken a life, and a not insignificant number of his own men had perished, which would make any decent commander lose sleep.

Robb Stark’s Northern retinue consisted of the usual suspects: Rodrick Cassel, Maester Luwin, and Theon Greyjoy. The old maester and castellan were whispering reports into the young lord’s ear, while the arrogant Greyjoy was lounging in a chair against the wall. 

Different from the last war council was that Addam and Lyle were accompanying Jaime. The two loyal knights had all but insisted on joining Jaime, not taking no for an answer when they heard that he planned to ride into battle once more.

The young Stark cleared his throat and held up a detailed log that Maester Luwin had just given him, “Our scouts have just returned with an update. Before we begin, I wanted to thank you and your men, Ser Addam, for continuing your vigilance in tracking our enemies.”

Addam slightly nodded his head, as he responded to the praise, “We are happy to help, Lord Robb.”

“As we suspected, a good portion of the invading Wildlings and those that survived yesterday’s battle have taken refuge in Harrowfast.” Robb started, while tracing his fingers on a map detailing this specific region of the North, “In coordination with the Western scouts, we’ve estimated that there are around four hundred Wildlings in the old keep. Additionally, the Second Sons that couldn’t slip past our patrols have also joined the Wildling occupation.”

Jaime was already aware of this information. Addam had immediately brought this report to Jaime, as soon as his scouts had returned this morning. While the allied army engaged the main Wildling host, other Northern forces had been converging on the area. They weren’t there in time to intercept the Second Sons before their sneak attack, but they could ensure that any escape plan of theirs would be disrupted. Of the hundred sellswords that blindsided Robb’s small army, maybe fifty of them had managed to evade the Northern soldiers.

“They may be scattered,” Lyle began, “but fifty desperate mercenaries on horseback could do more damage than roving Wildlings.”

Maester Luwin chimed in with his opinion, “We’ve taken precautions to mitigate any damage they could cause. All keeps with a rookery have been informed of their presence in the North and White Harbor has increased security on their docks.”

Rodrick nodded his agreement, “Not to mention most of these bastards are probably Easterners. The Northern climate must be playing hell with them and even someone born and bred in these lands would find it difficult to traverse the Neck.”

“I still don’t understand why they would get involved.” Theon remarked, “To cross the ocean and challenge House Stark with only a hundred men is suicide.”

“It’s a brash decision.” Addam admitted, “And one that was clearly not unanimous in their company. I’ve heard that the Second Sons can field five hundred cavalry, yet we’ve only encountered a fifth of that.”

Jaime saw where his friend was going and finished the thought, “This is likely the work of some ambitious lieutenant who thought this would be a simple hit and run.”

“Do you know who their leaders are?” Robb asked the older knight with a clear interest.

Jaime was quick to shake his head, “Sellsword leaders change in an instant. Apart from the Golden Company and a select few others, there is very little honor in their ranks. These men may have been kicked out for making some kind of power play or Torrhen offered them enough gold to risk the consequences.”

Maester Luwin agreed with Jaime, “Yes, while not as popular as the Golden Company, the Second Sons do have a reputation of being somewhat reliable. The King could demand retribution from the company for this aggression.”

“Regardless, that is something that is months away.” Jaime waved off what he saw as pointless conjecture at this stage and asked, “What can you tell me about the fortifications at Harrowfast?”

Rodrick stepped up to take his turn briefing the room, “It’s an old keep, but the merchants inhabiting it have kept the walls in decent repair. I’d wager that they’re around twenty feet tall and maybe six feet wide. There are definitely some structural weaknesses here and there, but competent defenders could exact a heavy toll on any attackers.”

The Greyjoy ward let out a loud laugh at that, “Then we’ve nothing to worry about. The Wildlings have spent thousands of years trying and failing to get past a wall. There’s nothing competent about them.”

“It doesn’t take much competence to drop a rock on a man’s skull.” Lyle warned in his boisterous manner that sent Theon scowling.

Addam’s voice also suggested caution, “The Second Sons may also take charge and coordinate the defense. Eastern mercenaries are often chartered by the Free Cities to either fortify or break sieges. It would be foolish to discount their abilities.”

The Westerner’s counsel seemed to dishearten Robb, who asked with a slightly frustrated tone, “Are you saying we can’t break them?”

“Not at all.” Jaime was the first to correct, “We have over two thousand men, while they have less than five hundred in a crumbling keep; we could take Harrowfast with half our numbers. Still, the defenders will always enjoy a certain advantage in sieges, and we could needlessly throw away lives if we don’t approach the situation carefully. How many entrances are there?”

“The primary means of entrance is a large set of wooden doors, maybe twelve feet tall and eight feet wide.” Rodrik answered, and then after a second of thought added, “There is also a small side entrance that’s a single wooden door.”

“Anything else?” Jaime asked, as he considered how to best approach this situation.

“Aye, there’s a single tower within the keep. It’s four stories tall and is part of the rear wall.” Rodrick confirmed, as the room ruminated over these details. 

It was Robb who first offered a plan, “We’ll concentrate our forces at the main entrance. The battle is over as soon as we breach the walls en masse.”

Addam frowned at the idea, “A direct assault will likely work, Lord Robb; however, we might have to tread over a hill of dead allies before we get into the doors.”

The young Stark lord seemed ready to object, but Maester Luwin spoke up, “You may not wish to hear this, Lord Robb, but you should consider your reputation. The battle involving the giant was remarkable, but it will be remembered as the conflict where Jaime Lannister slew a giant and the Second Sons killed half of Robb Stark’s men. Allowing that to happen again would be devastating to yourself and House Stark.”

Robb seemed ready to erupt at that counsel, but the sobering looks of Luwin and Cassel tempered his rage. While the teenager transitioned from anger to grief, Lyle offered another solution, “Perhaps we could scale the walls and open the gates for our main forces?”

“What? You gonna fly over the top?” Theon sneered, but instantly turned pale when the large bulk of the Crakehall knight shifted to glare at him, which encouraged Theon to add his own thoughts, “We could just skip a drawn out fight and have artillery target the weaknesses in the walls.”

Robb immediately shot down the idea, “Too risky. Arya is likely being held in the tower, but that’s not a guarantee. Knocking down walls could get her or any other hostages killed.”

“Then let’s use Lyle’s plan.” Jaime declared, as the focus of the room centered on him as he continued, “We’ll make it appear like our army is trying to knock down the front door, while a couple small groups use the opportunity to climb the walls and open the doors from the inside.”

“But couldn’t that lead to the higher rate of casualties we’re trying to avoid?” Robb asked, slightly confused.

Jaime nodded, “Yes, but only if gone about the wrong way. You’re right, Lord Robb, most siege equipment is too risky to use under these circumstances; however, a battering ram should provide distraction and protection in equal measure.”

“I see!” Rodrick caught on, “We’ll create a ram with a timber roof. It’s not too complicated to build and attaching a few animal skins to the top will also make it somewhat fireproof.”

“Can we still scale twenty foot walls?” Theon asked, not entirely comfortable with the idea, as he noticed Robb’s enthusiasm, “How would we manage that? With ladders?”

“No, too inconspicuous.” Robb decided, before happily snapping his fingers, “We’ll use grappling hooks.”

Maester Luwin seemed to share Theon’s hesitance, “This seems a highly dangerous plan.”

“Which is why the groups scaling the walls will need to be small. No more than six or eight per group.” Jaime explained, “Most of the enemy forces will be on top of the walls near the entrance. All we need to do is fight our way through the courtyard and remove the door’s bolt. And if we fail or can’t make it to the door, then the main forces will eventually make it inside with the ram.”

“We?” Addam asked, but the dark look on his face seemed to suggest that he already knew the answer to his question.

Jaime met his frustration with a grin, “I’ll lead one of the infiltration groups.”

“As will I.” Robb immediately pledged, which led to the color leaving Theon’s face.

The group spent the next ten minutes working out the final details of the operation before they departed to join their waiting forces. Harrowfast was a relatively straight march from Winterfell, and the Northern forces should reach just as night falls, which would give them time to create the ram and ensure the infiltrating parties had as much camouflage as possible.

Jaime left the meeting with a spring in his step, as he intended to seek out a few Western knights that might join his party. Yet, once they were out of earshot from the others, Addam’s annoyed voice stopped the Kingsguard, “Jaime!”

The Lannister turned with a raised eyebrow to see a very frustrated Addam Marbrand closing in on him with an uncomfortable looking Lyle following closely behind. The heir to Ashemark didn’t attempt to hide his anger when he challenged his liege lord’s son, “Do you plan on dying just to avoid the wishes of your Father?” 

“Calm yourself, Addam. You don’t need to join our group sneaking into the keep. Besides, it might be good to have one of our own keeping an eye on the main forces.” Jaime attempted to turn away, but Addam caught his shoulder.

“That’s not what this is about and you know it.” Addam bit back, offended that Jaime would imply he was a coward, “And sneak in? It’s going to be a bloody struggle for the men that enter Harrowfast before the doors open. I could understand the stunt with the giant, but this is an unnecessary risk!”

Jaime angrily pulled himself out of Addam’s grasp, “Don’t attempt to reprimand me, Marbrand! I still hold the rank of Kingsguard and your family is vassal to my own.”

“Then explain to me why you insist on needlessly putting yourself in harm's way?” Addam demanded from his friend.

“Because I’m trying to build something here!” Flashes of his earlier victory over the giant and an incomparable redhead fill Jaime’s mind, “I am building a rapport with these people that will bring about an unprecedented alliance between our peoples! Just think what we could accomplish with the endless resources of the North under our control!”

Ever the pragmatist, Addam’s fury was slightly abated when he considered Jaime’s words. In a short amount of time, the Kingslayer had gone from being universally detested to almost celebrated in this Northern land. Western influence in this region had never really existed, but Jaime could change that history with these deeds.

Still, Addam wasn’t entirely convinced that this was the right course of action to achieve their goals. At this point, Lyle stepped forward and put a large calming hand on both men's shoulders. The Crakehall knight had initially shied away when he witnessed the two old friends begin their screaming match, but he knew it was his turn to play intermediary.

“Peace, my friends.” Lyle began, by turning to Jaime, “Lion, this is a rather insane plan. I’m all for it, but normally that would make you reconsider your choice. We stand by you, but take care that you don’t lose yourself on this journey.” 

The Lannister’s eyes softened, and Lyle turned to Addam, “Marbrand, you have every right to be concerned, but this is Jaime Lannister we’re talking about. The man killed a fucking giant! Besides, he’ll have us watching his golden ass while he becomes a hero for the North.”

Addam’s snarl diminished into a small frown and Lyle laughed, taking that as a win. The burly Crakehall knight slapped both men on the back and yelled, “Now let’s build something together!”

Both of the other knights sighed in unison, but they managed to look one another in the eyes once more and share a small grin.

“He’s right, Addam.” Jaime confirmed, “This is something that we’ll build together.”

Addam nodded his consent, “Then we’ll see it done.”

Lyle’s laugh bounced around the walls of Winterfell, as the trio of knights went to don their armor.

(-)

Moving without making noise in a full suit of plate mail is not an easy endeavor, but fighting your way into a stronghold with zero protection is an even less enviable venture. There was very little cover in the fields surrounding Harrowkeep. It might have been that this land was always fairly desolate, considering that this keep is merely a refurbished trading post without a large population. Or, there had been some standing structures, and the Second Sons had enough sense to knock them down before any attackers could use them as cover.

Jaime scanned the fields around him for debris, but the moonlight didn’t give his eyes enough light to accurately scan the field. Thankfully, that also meant the defenders would have a difficult time seeing anyone approaching. At least, anyone that didn’t want to be seen. The Southern side of the keep, which held the large wooden doors, was currently besieged by a force of two thousand.

The Northerners took care to make their presence known far before actually engaging with the enemy by sparking a wide sea of torches and screaming their intentions on approach. By the torches lining the walls of the old keep, Jaime could make out that most of the defenders were repositioned to meet the enemy at the gates. There were still a few over a dozen on Jaime’s side, the Eastern side, but their attention was noticeably drawn to the conflict.

Jaime led Addam, Lyle, and three hedge knights in an agonizingly slow crawl up towards the stone walls. The closer they got to the walls, the more Jaime could hear of the ongoing battle.The Wildlings didn’t have any many bows among them, but rocks were always plentiful and the Northerners discovered that the savages were fatally proficient with slings. There was a constant series of thuds, as heavy rocks were dropped onto the timber roof of the battering ram. Jaime had watched Rodrick Cassel oversee the construction of the siege equipment and was pleased that the man clearly had some practice in the subject. The ram itself was fashioned from the body of a large tree, which was placed on a thin cart that could hold its weight. Atop the ram was a wide roof that shielded those guiding and operating the ram from directly overhead. At the right angle from the side, an arrow could make it under the protection of the roof and snipe a man. If that happened, it was imperative for the attackers to remove the body and replace the missing man immediately. There were teams of men forming shield walls that flank the ram, but their arms could break under the repeated trauma of rocks being dropped onto their shields. There was a piercing chorus of screams followed by a sadistic cheer from the Wildlings, and Jaime could recognize from the agonizing cries that the barbarians were dropping hot pitch onto the unprotected infantry. 

Finally, Jaime’s group reached the wall itself and pushed themselves flush against its surface. Now came the frustrating part of waiting. They had decided that Rodrick, who was leading the assault on the gate, would deliver a signal after enough time had passed for both groups to make it to their positions.

And then at once, over a hundred Northern voices yelled over the screams of the dead and dying, “Preparing a volley!”

That was their signal. The knights had practiced with the grappling hooks on the much taller walls of Winterfell before departing, and Jaime only allowed those to accompany him that proved themselves decent with the unfamiliar tool. Jaime rapidly spun the hook in one hand before launching at the top of the wall. Just as the head disappeared over the top, Jaime yanked back down and smiled when he felt it find purchase on the ramparts. One of his knights fumbled the first throw, but he succeeded on the second try and they began their ascent. Jaime strained as he pulled himself arm over arm and found what footholds he could in the wall to haphazardly “walk.”

The Lannister knight nearly jumped when an ugly, pox-ridden face sneered down at him in surprise just as he was about to crest the top of the wall. Acting on instinct, Jaime unsheathed the stiletto attached to a holster on his chest and stabbed the man in the eye. With a groan the Wildling slumped forward and Jaime tossed him off the side before vaulting over the top of the wall.

Jaime wasted no time in unsheathing his sword and gutting another Wildling that just turned back from watching the fight at the gate. Unfortunately, their group was seen not long after Jaime dispatched his second foe and a series of warnings were shouted through the courtyard; however, Jaime’s knights had now all joined him on top of the ramparts with their weapons drawn.

Two Wildlings armed with crude clubs came screaming down the walkway, but a giant swipe from Lyle’s greatsword cut them both down before they could make a single swing. Jaime looked towards the Western side of the wall to see Robb Stark landing on his feet with several Northern soldiers. Their side of the wall had a few more enemies on it, but the real danger came from the dozens of heads now turned toward their locations.

The Kingsguard happily noted that their assumption was right. The Northern wall was bloated with enemies, but the courtyard and barred wooden doors were almost uninhabited. Knowing that the success of this would rely on speed, Jaime immediately took off with his knights close behind him. Leading the charge, Jaime parried a blow from one of the barbarians and allowed one of the hedge knights to slash his throat as they ran past. Jaime ran to the large set of stone stairs that would lead down to the courtyard and dodged another wild blow and then used his shoulder to push the man off the ledge into the courtyard below. 

Leaping down the stairs, Jaime had to stop to trade blows with a member of the Second Sons. The man was skilled with a shield and repeatedly attempted to use the weight of the object to knock Jaime off balance with quick shoves when blocking. The knight quickly realized that, while formidable, the man was using the same tactic over and over. So Jaime waited for the man to make another attempt with shoving at his shield, and sidestepped the attack. In an instant, Jaime’s left hand reached in and slit the man’s throat with his long dagger.

The Northerners led by Robb Stark had joined the Western knights in the courtyard and cut a similar path to the gate. The young Stark lord displayed his skill with the blade as he bravely faced off with far older men and proved himself to be their better. Theon Greyjoy and another Northerner remained on top of the wall and alternated from firing arrows at men in the courtyard and those trying to enter the fray from the ramparts above.

A group of Wildlings rushed the Western knights, but the almost manic laughing of Lyle nearly stopped their charge. Jaime stopped the swing of a rusted sword with his own, as he pulled forward to sink his knife in the man’s stomach. As the Wildling fell, Jaime spun around and nearly decapitated another savage that attempted to bludgeon him from behind. The hedge knights easily dispatched the other Wildlings in the charge, but Jaime was more concerned with the men beginning to run down the stairs after them.

The Lannister watched as Addam met the first one by stabbing him through with his sword and caught the blow from another with his shield. Unfortunately, Addam’s sword was still lodged in the first man’s stomach when a third Wildling swung a wild blow at the knight. Jaime nearly yelled when he saw Addam’s head whip around from the attack, but sighed in relief when he saw that only the tip of the sword made contact and the knight’s helmet absorbed the damage. Still, Addam was clearly dazed from the attack, so Jaime surged forward and lopped off the leg of one attacker before slitting the throat of the other with his stiletto.

Grabbing the dazed Addam, Jaime threw the knight behind him and yelled, “Lyle! Hold this with me! The rest of you open that fucking door!”

Immediately responding, Lyle took a few steps in front of Jaime before the stairs and used the wide reach of his greatsword to make giant swings that covered the width of the stairs. The Kingslayer took up position behind the Crakehall knight and used his longsword to stab at any foe that got past Lyle’s attacks.

Robb Stark’s group was occupying most of the other enemies within the courtyard, so Addam staggered toward the door with the other knights. The last two Wildlings guarding the door charged the approaching knights, but they were stopped by their shields and cut down mercilessly. Although, the brief delay in front of the door put the knights in range of the defenders on top of the wall, and one of Jaime’s volunteers had his head brutally caved in by a heavy stone.

Addam and the other two knights dove towards the door and threw their weapons down to lift the large wooden block barring any entrance. With a collective heave, the knights lifted the wood and dropped it at their feet. They then moved to open the door, but a smash from the battering ram pushed it wide open and the Westerners were face to face with their Northern allies.

Jaime and Lyle had managed to kill half a dozen men that recklessly charged down the stairs after them, but a group of ten enraged savages were bounding down the steps to overwhelm the pair. Thankfully, Jaime had heard the crashing sound of the doors giving way to the ram, and looked over his shoulder to see two dozen Northern soldiers enter with bows ready. The Lannister pulled back Lyle mid swing and the two knights tumbled onto the ground as a hail of arrows made pincushions out of the Wildings about to jump on them.

Climbing back to his feet, Jaime searched the courtyard for the young Northern lord as their forces swept into the keep. Finding Robb covered in blood that was not his own, Jaime met eyes with the young lord and the Stark wildly motioned to the tower at the rear of the fort. The Lannister immediately understood Robb’s motions and nodded along.

“Take charge here with Addam!” Jaime yelled in Lyle’s ear before sprinting towards the base of the tower.

Two Second Son soldiers were waiting at the entrance with blades drawn. Jaime met up with Robb and several Northern soldiers as they easily ran over the two guards. The two Northerners that kicked in the door were shot dead by several arrows, but their sacrifice allowed Jaime and Robb to charge in with another five warriors.

This tower seemed to be entirely occupied by Second Sons and Jaime would wager Torrhen’s personal retinue. The archers had overturned a wooden table for cover, but the idiots must have done it in a hurry, as the legs were facing outward. Jaime lowered his shoulder and charged into the table, which pushed backwards and trapped three of the archers against the stone wall. Robb was right beside Jaime and the Stark lord executed the mercenaries, while his soldiers clashed with the other men in the room. Seeing that the enemies here would soon fall, Robb ran to the winding wooden stairs with Jaime and two other soldiers right behind him.

The second floor was empty, so Robb continued the charge up to the floor and was immediately locked into a duel with a member of the Second Sons. There were half a dozen men here and all of them wore the uniform of professional mercenaries. One of Robb’s soldiers lost his footing and was cut down for the mistake, which forced Jaime to fend off three mercenaries at once. All of these men were decent with the sword and had well-maintained equipment, which forced Jaime to call upon all of his experience to survive. In between parrying blades with his own and dodging out of the way of attacks, the Lannister began to grow concerned for Robb.

The man engaged with Robb had a uniform that seemed to place him as the leader of the mercenaries. He had a fitted breastplate with a custom sigil that depicted the broken sword of the Second Sons having been refurbished with a golden blade. The armor covered a garish pink doublet that matched well with his purple pointed beard. The man looked like an anomaly, but the way he handled his rapier seemed to completely keep Robb at bay. The last remaining Northern soldier finished their foe and assisted Jaime in his duel, which allowed the Kingsgaurd to realize that the company commander was playing with the Northern lord.

A sense of dread filling his stomach, Jaime worked with the Northern soldier to dispatch two of his enemies, so he could help Robb. Just as Jaime turned his body to the lithe sellsword leader, the man turned an eye towards the Kingslayer and let out a jovial laugh, “Ah! The armor of a Kingsguard!”

Robb tried to take advantage of what he thought was his enemy being distracted, but in an instant the man twirled his thin blade and Robb’s face was a torrent of blood. Jaime knew from the sound of Robb’s anguished roar and the amount of blood that his eye was ruined. It was only Jaime’s intervention that stopped the man from piercing the Northern lord’s throat, while he was clutching his face in agony.

Jaime locked blades with the smiling sellsword and heard his infuriatingly grating voice taunt, “Just imagine the stories! Kasporio the Cunning vanquishing a Kingsgaurd and executing the heir to the North! My life will end in a celebration!”

“Only the maggots will rejoice at your passing.” Jaime promised in a cold voice that was reminiscent of Tywin Lannister.

Some of the mirth left Kasporio’s eyes, as his smile turned into a snarl and he began a ruthless assault on Jaime. The sellsword’s fighting style was not that of the Westerosi knight. Jaime could understand how Robb could be caught so off guard by the lightning quick thrusts from the pointed blade. Thankfully, Jaime had the privilege of studying several fighting styles during his time in the capitol and knew how to answer Kasporio’s sharp attacks.

The point of that rapier would be deadly to any armor, even Jaime’s legendary Kinsgaurd plate mail would be easily pierced by that weapon. Although, while the point is fatal, the rest of the blade barely has an edge that would damage the armor. The trick to defeating someone of Kasporio’s skill with a rapier would be to make him believe that he has the upper hand. Jaime matched the man’s attacks with the same stance and series of blows. Every time that Kasporio jabbed for his chest, Jaime would deflect the attack with his own blade and attempt a slice that the sellsword would backstep away from. Jaime further tested the man’s skill by pressuring him after that backstep, but the man was capable of continuously deflecting or dodging Jaime’s slower attacks. At this rate it would become a battle of endurance, which Jaime would normally feel confident about, but he was wearing full armor and had been fighting far longer than the sellsword. 

So, Jaime reverted to his initial series of moves. A deflection followed by a slice that Kasporio would back out of, which the sellsword would then answer by attempting an angled jab at Jaime’s chest. The knight would sidestep this attack and the pattern would repeat itself. After the fourth repetition, Jaime saw a slight twinge in Kasporio’s confident eyes. Jaime began his sidestep a moment earlier this time, which the sellsword sought to capitalize on by adjusting the angle of his attack. It would have pierced right through Jaime’s chest, but the Kingsguard wanted the sellsword to make that adjustment. The distance of the knight’s sidestep was greater than what Kasporio anticipated, so his blow passed through Jaime’s arm and side.

Just as the rapier was fully extended, Jaime slammed his arm against his body and effectively got a grip on his enemy’s weapon. The sellsword stumbled and his eyes panicked as Jaime’s armored fist shot forward to connect with his nose. Kasporio fell backwards onto the floor, his nose broken and blood rushing down his face.

The dazed man attempted to stand, but Jaime planted his foot directly on the sellsword’s chest and stared down at him with cold eyes.

“Begin your celebration.” Jaime advised the mercenary who opened his blood filled mouth to beg, but was cut off when the Lannister slammed his own rapier through his eye socket and out the back of his head.

Jaime turned back to see the only remaining Northern soldier that accompanied him and Robb had survived the skirmish. Despite having a large gash on his leg, the man had torn up a piece of cloth and tied it around Robb’s bleeding eye socket. The young lord was unconscious and leaning against the wall with the soldier sitting beside him. Jaime panicked for a moment, but saw the steady rhythm of Robb’s chest that indicated he was still alive.

The Lannister frowned at the pale coloring of both men, which suggested how much blood they had lost. The knight clapped the Northern soldier on the shoulder and commended him, “You’ll need to get a tourniquet on your own leg or you’ll bleed out. Have the other soldiers call for a maester as soon as you see one.”

The soldier gave a slow nod and Jaime steadied himself to climb the last flight of stairs that would bring him to the top of the tower. Sword still drawn, Jaime cautiously ascended to the final story of the tower and was immediately met with frantic screaming.

“Stop, Kingslayer!” A manic Torrhen Karstark screamed, as he waved a knife in Jaime’s direction.

The Lannister did as the teenager demanded, but it was not out of fear for his personal safety. The young man was clearly unhinged in that moment. His eyes were wide and even from across the room Jaime could tell that they were bloodshot. His whole body seemed to tremble with violent shakes and his skin color matched that of a ghost. What made Jaime stop was that Torrhen had his arm around the neck of the younger Stark daughter. Arya frantically held onto Torrhen’s arm as his tight grip must have made it difficult for her to breathe. 

“Take another step and I’ll kill myself and my wife!” Torrhen shrieked in a mad craze as he alternated between pointing his dagger at Jaime and then Arya.

Jaime sneered at Torrhen’s term for the girl under his protection and the fear etched into her face made the knight’s heart tug painfully.

The Lannister held his arms up slowly and calmly addressed the teenager, “It’s over Torrhen. The keep is ours.”

The Karstark shook his head and denied reality, “Our love can overcome any obstacle! It’s not over until I say so!”

Fighting to keep the disgust off his face, Jaime attempted to make a step forward, but that only caused Torrhen to resume his screaming and take another step backwards.

‘Shit.’ Jaime thought, as he saw the large unopened window situated only a few feet behind the pair of teenagers.

“Torrhen,” Jaime truly had to fight to keep his voice gentle, “if you come willingly and hand over Arya to me, you’ll be allowed to go home.”

The Lannister didn’t give a damn about lying, he only wanted this crazed man to remove the dagger from Arya’s neck.

“Home doesn’t matter!” Torrhen bellowed, “Our bond guarantees us a place in this world and the next!”

Jaime yelled, as Torrhen raised his dagger high in the air, but at the same moment Arya bit down on the arm restraining him. The Karstark now screamed in pain, and Jaime was going to tackle him to the ground, but Arya acted first and wrestled the dagger from the man.

“I’m! Not! Your! Fucking! Wife!” Arya punctuated every word with a brutal stab into the torso of Torrhen Karstark. Even when the teenager’s lifeless body fell to the floor, Arya continued to stab wildly into his corpse.

The Stark girl only stopped when Jaime wrapped his cloak around her shoulders and she descended into a hysterical fit of crying.

(-)

Nearly an hour passed before Jaime carried a sleeping Arya Stark out of the tower. The Wildlings and Second Sons had all been put to the sword rather quickly once the Northerners had swarmed into the keep. Casualties seemed to be somewhat low, but Jaime was worried about the extent of Robb Stark’s injury.

The Lannister certainly didn’t expect to be face to face with his brother when he left the tower. Tyrion Lannister looked and smelled like shit, but that didn’t stop his older brother from embracing him after depositing the Stark girl into the arms of Rickard Cassel.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Jaime asked through a wide grin.

Tyrion laughed back at his brother’s enthusiasm, “We were attacked when these savages first arrived. Benjen Stark and my sworn shield managed to find a hidden alcove in the basement of the inn.”

Jaime nodded, it would make sense that merchants have secret compartments for more illicit goods, but his train of thought was halted when he considered his brother’s words, “What sworn shield are you talking about?”

Tyrion grinned and pointed across the courtyard. Jaime followed his brother’s finger and saw the perpetually dour Jon Snow standing beside a maester as the healer cleaned out Robb’s now empty eye socket.

The Kingsguard had to stop himself from laughing, “You convinced the bastard of Ned Stark to be your sworn shield?”

“Well, he hasn’t agreed yet.” Tyrion admitted with a sly smile, “But I’ll wear him down eventually. Truly, the boy deserves a better life than celibacy in this frozen hellscape.”

“Gods.” Jaime sighed into the air. It was incredibly refreshing to know that his brother was safe and to enjoy the wits his family was blessed with. The knight placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder and the two spent a moment further reassuring each other that they were alright.

“I need to check on the condition of the Stark children.” Jaime announced, as he began to leave his brother’s side.

“Go on, play wolf tamer.” Tyrion teased, but the grin disappeared after a second as he seemed to remember something vitally important, “Oh, brother?”

Jaime stopped and turned back, “Yes?”

“Did you kill a fucking giant?”

(-)

Jaime wanted nothing more than to sink into his bed and shut out the rest of the world. Harrowkeep was in no condition to harbor two thousand men after the Wildlings had stripped the place for every worthy possession and food item. Besides, with Winterfell being only a short march away, Rodrick Cassel insisted that they return the Stark children at once.

The battle had gone relatively well for the attackers. Cassel estimated that opening the doors had limited casualties to only a hundred soldiers; however, the leaders managed to accrue a fair number of injuries. Obviously, the worst among them was Robb Stark losing his right eye. The maester decided that the Stark heir should be kept unconscious as they bring him back to Winterfell. There was some risk of infection, but the Maester cleaned the wound early and consistently changed the bandages when necessary. Jaime was more worried about the psychological toll that losing half of one’s vision would inflict on Robb.

Additionally, Theon Greyjoy had gotten into a close-quarters scuffle with one of the Wildlings atop the ramparts, and the two rolled off the wall together into the courtyard. Thankfully, at least that’s the word Jaime should be using, Theon landed on top of the savage and lessened the impact of his fall. Still, the Greyjoy pup had fractured the bones in his left leg and right arm from the fall. Jaime lost one of his hedge knights and Ser Addam was likely concussed from the blow he took to the head; however, the Lannister was confident that his friend would fully recover.

When they returned to Winterfell in the dead of the night, Sansa had been waiting there for them and immediately spirited away with her sleeping brother and sister. Jaime didn’t expect the woman to give him a second look when her injured brother and traumatized sister were laying there before her, but an increasingly larger portion of his brain demanded time with the Stark woman.

Maybe that’s why his heart jumped into his throat when he heard a small knock on his door. The Lannister knight donned the same robe from the previous night over his naked form and tried to control the tremor in his hand as he reached for the door handle.

Swinging it open, Jaime found himself once more face to face with Sansa Stark. Trying to command his face into a neutral expression, in case the gorgeous redhead came with bad news, Jaime asked, “Is there something I can help you with, Lady Sansa?”

The girl didn’t even say hello, before confidently stating, “I want you to marry me.”

Now that was not bad news at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s chapter four! I hope everyone enjoyed the intimate scene between our lovebirds and the flow of the siege. I debated for a while over how seriously Robb should be injured, or if he should be injured at all, and I think that I like this decision. His injury will help Sansa make the case to her father that the Starks need security, which conveniently is found in a marriage. Also, it will begin to spark the beginning of an even more devious and ambitious Sansa. Don’t worry she’s not going to suddenly betray the Starks or anything, but she’s not above going behind their backs to put something together that she knows will benefit her family. She and Tywin will certainly become fast friends! Just imagine an ambitious Jaime and Sansa working together to further the Lannister dynasty and the Northern dynasty to a lesser degree.
> 
> Also, I wanted to throw out there the idea of writing a modern au fic about politics. Of course, it’ll revolve around Jaime and Sansa, but there would be a lot of conversation regarding modern politics in the United States. In my very rough draft, Jaime would be an up and coming social democrat that comes from a long family of moderate liberals. Jaime would have recently been made a Senator or Governor for a Northeastern state, while he randomly runs into a newly moved in Sansa. She’ll be travelling to this state for some reason, but she’ll have this backstory about her family being a very conservative group of politicians. It probably won’t be as long as I intend this story to be. I’m worried that people won’t enjoy me droning on about modern politics, and in all honesty, championing my ideals. It’ll be a romance that involves genuine dialogue across ideological barriers, but Jaime would act as a means to display my own ideas regarding politics. Any thoughts on that?
> 
> If you made it here, thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Until next time.


	5. Leaving the North

“Would you bear with me for a moment?” A wide-eyed Jaime managed to ask in a steady voice, as he gently tugged Sansa into the room and closed the door behind the woman.

The redhead raised an eyebrow, while watching Jaime’s hands move to latch the door shut, but as she turned back she gasped when she realized how close his lips were to her own. She could tell that the Lannister was waiting for her and she didn’t make him wait long.

To say that the first time their lips touched was heavenly would be an understatement. Sansa forgot why she came to his room. All that existed was the electricity surging between the two of them. The woman seemed to entirely forget all her lessons about decorum when she was around the Kingsguard and this was no exception. Sansa greedily pushed herself into his body and moaned, marvelling at how perfectly his frame enveloped her own. The Stark allowed her hands to explore Jaime’s scalp and tug at his blonde mane, while his own desperately wandered over her back.

Unfortunately, humans are still beholden to the act of breathing, so the two of them broke apart. Their lips parted, but Sansa relaxed against the frame of the door and continued to hold the knight against herself. Jaime rested his forehead against her own and the two shared with one another a content smile.

“I apologize,” Jaime began, but the joy in his eyes and upturned lips immediately gave him away, “I don’t mean to offend the sensibilities of a maiden.”

The blush came, as it always did when the Lannister teased her, but Sansa was ready to counterattack, “Oh, Ser Jaime, you don’t need to worry about that.”

A brief flash of confusion spread over Jaime’s face, but Sansa didn’t leave him in suspense for long, as she leaned in to whisper in his ear, “I’m no maiden.”

The Lannister knight was simultaneously aroused and shocked by the darring grin his Northern Queen sent him after that confession. Inwardly, Sansa was slightly worried that his affections for her would halt after this admission, but the Lannister proved her wrong when he also leaned in to whisper, “Then that makes two of us.”

The two lost themselves in a small fit of laughter as they held onto each other for support. Sansa looked up at the older man and allowed herself one more passionate kiss. They took their time during this second embrace. Bodies were still flush together, but Jaime placed a hand on her cheek to deepen the kiss and Sasna kept her hands firmly on his back. They channeled all of their anxiety, relief, and excitement through their lips and felt intoxicated by the exchanging of such raw emotion.

Painfully realizing that it had been far longer than a moment, Jaime disentangled himself from the younger woman and walked to the end table beside his bed. After pouring both of them a generous glass of wine, the Lannister moved back to the Stark and took her hand. The two sat in wooden chairs before the fire; Jaime kept hold of Sansa’s hand as they relaxed into their seats and sipped at their wine.

Jaime took a second to smack his lips after his first sip and turned toward Sansa with a knee shaking smile, “So we were talking about marriage?”

Sansa fought off a laugh at his nonchalant attitude and hoped that the future would allow the two of them to spend many nights like this together. The Stark woman played along and nodded at his question, “Yes, I think we’d make quite the match.”

“I’m sold.” Jaime plainly announced, as he leaned over to clink their glasses and give her hand a small kiss.

Absolutely bewildered, Sansa leaned in to confirm his statement, “You’re sold?”

Jaime continued with the short replies, “Completely.”

“You want to marry me?” Sansa further inquired.

Jaime met her gaze this time, “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more.”

“But we’ve barely known each other for a month!” Sansa exclaimed, even as her heart swooned at the knight’s declaration, “How can you feel so confidently about this?”

“Because I feel as if I’m getting the better deal out of this relationship.” Jaime bluntly stated and continued before Sansa could retort, “I’m sure you have your reasons that aren’t entirely romantic for wanting us to marry, which I do wish to hear from you; however, I’m benefitting far more from this match than you possibly could.”

“How?” Was all Sansa could gasp, as the man’s warm eyes comforted her more than any Northern hearth ever had.

“This.” Jaime emphasized by squeezing the woman’s hand, before continuing, “I have felt lost for years. Almost as if I were adrift at sea with no destination in sight. Even when I took the steps to bring my destiny back under control once more, I still had no idea what I really wanted out of the world.”

The Lannister placed his cup of wine back down on the ground, so he could wrap both of his hands around Sansa’s, “That confusion and fear disappears when I stand by you. Your very presence has encouraged me to dedicate myself to noble causes that my childhood self would cheer for. I’ve come to realize that I’ll be able to find my place in this world and be truly happy with it, if I have you by my side.”

Somewhere within that declaration, Sansa began to shed tears. The redhead rose from her seat, hands still connected with the Lannister and wine forgotten, so she could climb onto the man’s lap. Jaime happily wrapped his arms around her, as he felt the woman’s tears against his face when she gave him a tender kiss.

“I’ll always consider myself lucky to have someone like you at my side.” Jaime promised and Sansa’s tears continued to fall into her smile.

The Lannister knight refused to stop his affections, which placed Sansa’s heart at the very dangerous risk of spontaneously combusting.

“Gods, all I could see when I first entered Winterfell was this Northern beauty.” Jaime began to whisper to the redhead. The Kingsguard began to punctuate every compliment with a small kiss.

“Your glorious hair.” The touch of lips on her forehead.

“These wondrous eyes.” Two pecks that captured some of her falling tears.

“These full lips that bewitch me with every sentence.” A longer kiss with a slight nibble on her lower lip.

Jaime leaned back to stare into her eyes and rest his forehead against her own, before continuing, “Your body may be the most captivating thing I have ever laid eyes on. And I pray that I can spend the rest of my life discovering its many mysteries.”

Even when making her melt and weep from unbridled passion, Jaime Lannister was still able to make the Stark woman roar with laughter.

“Then I really got to know you,” Jaime began again with his voice devoid of humor and resonating what Sansa knew to be love, “and I knew that I was really screwed. I’ve fallen for you, my beautiful Queen.”

Sansa gasped and Jaime relentlessly further explained, “The way you carry yourself is awe inspiring. Your family has faced a series of horrible challenges, yet you keep your head held high and exude strength when no one else will. Your mind is sharper than any whip and I absolutely adore watching you tear down foolish old men. I can’t imagine there’s anyone in the world more arousing than you.”

The Stark girl gasped when she realized that she could clearly feel the depth of Jaime’s arousal. It was exhilarating. Knowing that she inspired such devotion and lust from a man as powerful as him. Unable to take it anymore, Sansa forcefully caught Jaime’s lips with her own and moaned into the embrace. The Lannister could feel her long locks of hair fall around him and relished in the feeling.

A minute passed before Sansa finally relented and pulled away to look down at the most handsome man she had ever met.

“You’re mine.” Sansa declared with absolute conviction that led to a noticeable spike in Jaime’s arousal.

“I’m yours.” Jaime promised without missing a beat.

“I don’t think there are words to truly express the extent of my affection for you.” Sansa admitted, as she gazed at the Lannister with the most lovely of smiles, and she then vowed, “But I will never stop trying.”

“And I eagerly await every attempt.” Jaime happily replied, as he pulled the woman down to rest her head on his chest.

Sansa breathed in his scent and relaxed briefly, before asking, “Can I tell you my political reasons?”

“Please do.” Jaime encouraged, as he stroked her beautiful hair that so thoroughly enraptured him.

The woman happily rubbed her head into his chest at the touch and began, “The status of my family is in jeopardy. Our patriarch has been called away to serve in the South and our matriarch is barely able to feed herself.”

Jaime’s heart broke for the young woman that so plainly explained the seeming loss of her parents. He continued his stroking, as she went on, “Robb has had both his reputation and body injured from this conflict. He’ll recover from both, but it will take time.”

The Lannister nodded at her reasoning. Robb would undoubtedly be changed by the loss of his right eye; however, the Northern nobility would scrutinize him even further after this less than desirable series of events. Jaime believed the young lord could rise to the occasion, but it would be a difficult venture to undertake.

“Arya is an even more complicated problem. I honestly don't know what to do with her.” Sansa confided, as she used her finger to draw circles in Jaime’s large shoulder, “I had Maester Luwin check to see if she had been… assaulted. The Maester doesn’t believe she was harmed, but we won’t know until she wakes up. Yet, even if she hasn’t, she’ll still be a pariah among Northern nobility.”

Jaime knew where this was going and finished Sansa’s train of thought, “Even if she hasn’t been touched,” The Lannister knight said the word with disdain as he abhorred any monster that would harm another human in such a way, “there will always be rumors to the contrary. And killing the noble will be an additional stigma she’ll have to carry.”

Sansa nodded and gave out a hollow laugh, “It’s ridiculous. Any man would be congratulated for the act. You or Robb would have men making toasts in your honor for killing someone so devoid of nobility; however, a woman doing the act is seen as unnatural.”

The Lannister sighed and nodded his agreement that the view towards women was so ridiculous; however, an earlier daydream crossed his mind once again.

“Dear Queen?” Jaime premised, and despite the depressing topic, Sansa smiled for his response, “What if we brought her into our household?”

Sansa tried to ignore her heart doing flips at his mentioning of “our household” and pressed him to explain further “How do you mean?”

“It’s not uncommon for noble families to send children to another keep for fostering.” Jaime pointed out with a slight grin.

Sansa’s brow furrowed, “Arya is well past her sixteenth nameday, that’s a little old for fostering.”

The Lannister chuckled and squeezed his new fiance, “Exceptions can be made. Besides, my brother is dead set on having your Jon Snow become his sworn shield. Taking another Stark child would further emphasize the alliance between our houses. And she might find herself a noble husband in the West like her sister, or…”

The elder Stark daughter narrowed her eyes, as she was able to see right through the Lannister, “Or you can teach her how to hold a sword and make her a knight.”

Jaime laughed at Sansa’s accurate assumption and admitted, “It would be quite a sight, wouldn’t it? A direwolf of Winterfell being trained by the lions of Casterly Rock? The first female knight in the history of Westeros being another example of the union between our families?”

Still not thrilled with her sister’s fascination for martial pursuits, Sansa rolled her eyes and begrudgingly considered Jaime’s reasoning. Although, the golden knight truly had her when he leaned into counsel in a serious voice, “This might be something she needs, Sansa. We can never fully understand the trauma she has endured. She should be given a fresh start that gives her more control of her own life.”

Sansa turned to look into the kind eyes of the woman she so badly desired to be her husband and felt her affection soar even higher at the care he showed her sister.

“We’ll take care of her?” Sansa ensured, as she placed a hand on the older man’s cheek.

Jaime kissed the tip of her fingers and his smile was all the answer she needed.

“You hit the nail on the head, Ser Jaime.” Sansa admitted, “The best option for my family to survive this situation is to tie ourselves to yours.”

“You could marry into another prominent Northern family?” Jaime offered, but he knew she wouldn’t have brought up the idea without considering all possibilities, “The Manderlys or the Glovers could be good choices. That would help stabilize things. Your father’s vassals might not take too kindly to you marrying the Kingslayer.”

The knight nearly flinched at the touch of anger in Sansa’s response, “Don’t ever deride yourself, Jaime. You are one of the greatest men I know and I won’t stand for anyone not treating you as such, even yourself.”

Jaime could only stare in amazement and nod at her command, which he was rewarded with a kiss on the cheek and Sansa addressing his earlier point, “They’ll want their daughters to marry Robb. He’s the heir of House Stark. If he married outside of the Northern families, then we would have trouble. Rickon will likely also be used as a stud for the Northern nobility.”

Ah, the subject of children. That made the Lannister feel a cold sweat come on, as he considered whether to bring up the problematic history with his twin. If this had been the Jaime from a couple years ago or even a month ago, he would have scoffed at the idea of sharing such a potentially fatal secret. Yet, Jaime couldn’t imagine misleading or omitting the truth from the woman in his arms.

Sansa seemed to notice her knight tensing, as she asked, “What’s wrong, lion?”

The Lannister smacked his lips together and Sansa could feel the heavy thumping of his heart, as he prepared himself.

“I need to be honest with you, dear Queen of mine.” Jaime began, “The royal children are-”

“The result of an affair you’ve had with your sister.” Sansa finished, as a gaping Jaime Lannister looked at her with complete surprise.

“What, I mean, how?” Was all the Kingsguard managed to sputter.

“It wasn’t that hard to put together, Jaime.” Sansa admitted with a voice surprisingly gentle for knowingly sitting in the lap of a man who commited multiple acts of incest and treason, “Southern gossip does eventually make its way to the North, especially when there is a royal procession traveling to Winterfell. Also, I only interacted with Tommen briefly, but he is your spitting image. But what really gave it away is your reaction right now.”

Jaime looked terrified, which prompted Sansa to place her delicate hand on his cheek once more and give him a small kiss.

“How can you stand to look at me?” The Lannister implored of the younger woman.

Sansa leaned back into his embrace as she answered him, “You never once looked at Cersei during your stay here. I often had my eye on you and whenever she would attempt an approach, you would walk in the opposite direction. It almost seemed like you disdained her. Plus, the way you have quite literally swept me off my feet doesn’t hurt.”

Letting out a shallow laugh, Jaime quipped, “It seems I’m lucky that you can’t take your eyes off of me.”

“That would take an act of strength and endurance that no one is capable of performing.” Sansa teased back, but her small smile turned serious when she added, “Jaime, I don’t think I could share you with anyone.”

“You’ll never have to.” Jaime promised, as he delivered a small kiss on her forehead.

She hesitated slightly before bringing up her next topic, but Sansa knew that it should be stated sooner rather than later, “Tommen and Myrcella seem like wonderful children, but I’m worried about Joffrey.”

The woman could see the pain in Jaime’s eyes when he nodded, “There is a horrifying amount of cruelty in that boy.”

“We’ll need to watch him.” Sansa gently reminded the knight who agreed with a somber smile.

The two spent a few more minutes lounging in the chair together when Sansa laughed a little, “Well, now that’s everything settled. Arya, Jon, and I will return South with you to the capitol. You’ll be removed from the Kingsguard and we’ll marry at the Rock.”

“I think you’re forgetting a few steps.” Jaime teased, as he planted a kiss on the top of her head, “We’ll still need to convince your father.”

Sansa chuckled, “I’m not looking forward to that negotiation, but I’m confident he’ll agree with me after some wrangling. Honestly, I’m more worried about how your father will react.”

Jaime paled considerably and his eyes went wide.

‘Shit.’

(-)

Tyrion was enjoying a delectable morning meal of black bacon and soft cheese on toast when his older brother burst into his private chambers.

“Gods, are we under attack again?” Tyrion half jokingly asked with a mouthful of food, as he saw the clearly agitated state of his brother.

The older Lannister threw himself into the chair besides Tyrions at the small wooden table and helped himself to his brother’s meal. Tyrion sighed, while he watched his older brother scarf down his bacon and chug delicious cider.

Knowing that there was no use helping his brother in this state, Tyrion leaned back and pitifully licked the few crumbs left on his fingers. The younger Lannister brother grew slightly worried, as he hadn’t seen his brother in such a manic state, since Jaime realized the gravity of Cersei’s constant infidelity. Or perhaps, unfaithfulness. They were never wed, thank the Seven or whatever deities that gave his brother some sense, so unfaithful would likely be a more apt word to describe her betrayal.

The younger brother was considering calling for another plate of food when his golden brother finally spoke up, “I am betrothed.”

Not even a second passed, before Tyrion asked, “Does Father know?”

And that was the problem right there. When hearing news of his brother committing himself to another human, the first thing Tyrion thought of was their Father’s approval. 

“Not yet.” Jaime admitted with a small grimace that expressed his apprehension.

Tyrion let out a breath and a low chuckle. He would not describe the Old Lion as a particularly affectionate parent, but the man certainly took a very active interest in the life of his children. Micromanager would be an understatement to describe the assertive Tywin Lannister and he has always held his heir above all others in that regard. The idea of Jaime finding a bride without Father’s explicit consent… that sent a few chills up Tyrion’s spine.

“Please tell me that she’s of noble blood.” Tyrion begged, not able to imagine what their Father would do if Jaime eloped with a commoner.

Even in his barely concealed hysteria, Jaime developed a small smirk at the thought of his Northern Queen, “Some of the oldest and most noble blood in the Seven Kingdoms.”

Tyrion was the furthest thing form stupid and thankfully, he was not blind. It barely took a second for the younger brother to make the connection.

“By the Seven, you’re marrying Sansa Stark!”

Slightly shaking with fear and excitement, Jaime revealed an idiotic grin that should belong to a teenage boy and not a man that just entered his thirties. The Lannister knight put a hand through his hair and proudly announced, “She approached me to make the proposal.”

If Tyrion had not been already sitting, he would have collapsed to the ground in a dizzied state. His older brother, his constant protector and champion in all matters, was grinning like a lovesick puppy over the eldest daughter of Eddard Stark.

“Her father is going to kill you and castrate you, I’m not sure in what order.” Tyrion only slightly japed, as his mind raced over the implications of this match.

Jaime was used to his brother’s stoic thinking face and gave the younger Lannister some time to consider the situation. It was a few moments before Tyrion left his concentration and addressed his brother, “If done properly, this could have the makings of an incredibly successful joint dynasty between the Lannisters and the Starks.”

“It will.” Jaime affirmed with a pleased sigh. The Lannister knight may not be as competent in the scholarly arts as his brother, but he was the son of Tywin Lannister and received the best tutelage the world had to offer; however, it was reassuring to hear his brother confirm Jaime’s hopes for the match.

“We only need to find a way to ensure that Father agrees with the notion.” Jaime insisted, as his eyes implored his younger brother for help, which Tyrion was all too happy to give.

“He’ll agree.” Tyrion stated without a second though, his confident voice further comforting his brother, “He’ll just be upset that you did not confer with him or seek his approval before beginning the courtship.”

Gods, Jaime nearly blushed as he recalled memories of how they advanced their courtship last night before Sansa had to return to her own chambers.

“Then I’m forced to endure a serious lecture and months of retribution?” The older brother asked, as if he was already committing himself to the penalty.

Tyrion shook his head slightly, “There will likely be no escaping a lecture, but you could lessen his ire by proving that you’ve thought out the benefits of this partnership and build the groundwork to reap the rewards.”

“The close relationship between our regions will provide new opportunities beyond giving Father his precious grandchildren.” Jaime momentarily had a dazed look as he thought about having children he could call his own, but shelved that thought for a future conversation with Sansa, before continuing, “What can the North offer the West that we don’t already have?”

Tyrion snorted, as if the answer was obvious, “Resources. The North is huge. Whether it be timber, stone, furs, or even undiscovered ore deposits. Although, Father may be uncomfortable with other nobles having access to precious ore. Regardless, we have the gold and the infrastructure to cultivate these assets.”

“You would have us build a trading network?” Jaime inquired, believing he understood where his brother was going with this explanation.

“Yes!” Tyrion affirmed and scattered over to a drawer to pull out paper and an inkwell. Jaime watched as his younger brother set the map down on the table and drew a very crude imitation of Westeros.

Jaime snorted, “To think, Father put you in charge of sanitation when you could have been a world renowned artist.”

The younger brother did not vocally respond to the joke, but he did flick a bit of ink from his quill towards Jaime.

“Look here.” Tyrion commanded, as he pointed out the Western border of Westeros, before beginning his own lecture, “As idiots love to say, we have no idea what is West of Westeros. Lannisport is one of the largest cities in the Seven Kingdoms, only falling behind Old Town and Kings Landing, but our partners at sea are rather limited.

Jaime nodded in understanding, “We’ve always had strong shipping lines with the Reach and some contact with Dorne.”

Tyrion then gestured back to the large borders of the North that made up a third of all of Westeros, and continued, “Most of the trading in the North comes from their only city, White Harbor. Lord Manderly’s ancestors placed themselves in the perfect position to trade with the Vale, Kings Landing, and even Essos. A voyage at sea from White Harbor to Lannisport would take even longer than escorting goods on foot; however, a port on the Western border would open up the treasures of the North for Casterly Rock.”

“We would also be the obvious stop between the North and the Reach.” The older brother noted.

“Yes,” Tyrion happily agreed, “which gives us the ability to tax the shit out of these Southern and Northern lords.”

“So we fund a port along the Western border.” Jaime traced the Tyrion’s crude drawing, as he tried to remember what Northern houses were situated in that area, “Perhaps, Lord Ryswell would be interested?”

“Potentially,” Tyrion admitted, but it was clear he had another idea, “I’ll give it some more thought and we should confer with your clever wife to be on this matter.”

Jaime smiled, “She’ll love the idea.”

“We’ll need to develop a stronger navy to protect our shipping lanes from the Iron Islanders, but I heard whispers that Father has some scheme in mind for them already.” Tyrion further pondered, before shaking his head and turning back to his brother, “Yet, that can wait for another time. Let’s draft your message to our sire.”

The Lannister brothers shared a devious grin and the elder remarked, “What would I do without you, dear brother?”

The younger merely shrugged, “Fall on your ass, most likely.”

(-)

The door to Bran Stark’s solemn bedroom opened gently as Sansa tiptoed her way inside. Bran, the adorable and willful boy that Sansa adored, was still sickly pale and unconscious within his bed. The Stark daughter tried not to look at the blanket hiding his maimed legs, but her mind seemed to automatically replace the fine fur with the horrible memory of his disfigured limbs.

The rest of the room wasn’t welcoming either. Drapes were drawn tightly closed over the windows and a silent creature sat lifelessly at the foot of the bed. Gods, Catelyn Stark looked like hell. The once vibrant autumn hair of her mother sat in a lifeless braid that looked as coarse as rope. The strong facial features that once gave her mother such a fierce countenance now stuck out so prominently that she appeared skeletal. And those empty eyes were focused on the criplled child, but she seemed to stare right through him.

Sansa didn’t bother greeting her mother. It was painful, but the woman hadn’t said a word to any of her conscious children in a month. The eldest Stark daughter felt as if she were conversing with a statue when talking to her mother; however, statues were usually carved to depict a moving image. Ironically, a statue might be full of more life than Catelyn Stark. 

The redhead walked to her brother’s side, and as she had every morning, gave the broken child a small kiss on the forehead and prepared to tell him a story of their childhood. Unfortunately, Sansa didn’t get to whisper a childhood memory this morning, as her mother interrupted her.

“Sansa.” Said girl nearly jumped at the sound of her mother’s voice. The melodic tone that held compassion and disapproval in equal measure was gone, what remained was the raspy groaning of underused vocal chords.

Still, Sansa nearly bawled at the sound. There was once more some life in the body of Catelyn Stark. Pushing aside a runaway tear, the daughter asked, “Yes, mother?”

“Tell me, when did I raise a whore?” Catelyn asked the room.

She shouldn’t have gotten her hopes up. The small light that returned to her mother’s eyes was absent of love and only held disdain. Sansa had witnessed this manner of body language from her mother before, it only led to a strict scolding, yet the fury present was like nothing she had ever before witnessed from the woman who gave birth to her.

Sansa could only gape, “What do you mean, mother?”

Catelyn still wouldn’t look to her daughter as she explained in that horrendous voice, “I am not dead. I hear the servants whispering. Gossiping about my eldest daughter visiting the chambers of the Kingslayer at all hours of the night.”

The redhead was stunned and couldn’t form a reply, so the older woman continued, “What was it? Did the idea of limitless gold and Southern pageantry seduce you? Or have you always been a tart that’s ready to spread her legs for whatever fool that comes along with an easy smile?”

She should not have insulted Jaime. Sansa would have suffered her mother’s cruelties and attempted to defuse the situation, but insulting such an honorable man that put himself at risk for their House and rescued her siblings? Catelyn had made a mistake.

“You are weak.” Sansa uttered, which earned the glare of Catelyn Stark’s bloodshot eyes.

The wrinkles around the matriarch’s mouth tensed to spit out a reply, but Sansa cut her off, “Look at yourself. Lazing about in your own filth. You’ve experienced a terrible burden for a parent, yet you’ve let it destroy you.”

It was now Catelyn Stark that was at a loss for words, as Sansa approached her and didn’t let up, “How many times have I begged you to look at or whisper a sweet word to your youngest, Rickon? Why didn’t you react or call for action when you were told that your youngest daughter has been kidnapped? Do you even care that Robb lost his right eye fighting to get her back?”

“Family. Duty. Honor.” Sansa leaned down to whisper in her mother’s ear, “You’ve failed in regards to all three of them. But why don’t you just continue to sit here and stare at nothing. I’ll continue managing our House by myself and ensure that your inactivity doesn’t lead to our destruction.”

Sansa began to walk towards the door, head held high and posture unwavering.

“Daughter.” A painful yelp crawled out of Catelyn’s throat.

The redhead nearly broke at that, but she would not let herself be walked over by a woman who had so easily given up in the face of adversity.

“Only by blood.” Sansa responded without looking back, “From this point on you are only the woman that gave birth to me.You’ve failed at completing the bare minimum of your duties to your children and House Stark. You may as well continue wasting away your days in this room and become a permanent fixture among the furniture.”

Sansa opened the door, but turned back to look at the stricken face of Catelyn, “I can promise you this, mother. I won’t fail where you have. I won’t let my pain allow me to neglect those that depend on me.”

“You will not be expected at my wedding.” And Sansa closed the door.

(-)

She did not cry. When she basically removed her mother from her life, Sansa Stark did not cry after the decision. Maybe she was too excited to properly understand the circumstances of what she had done and the tears would come later? Or, maybe she had been silently preparing for this moment after a month of negligence and the tears would never come?

Regardless, of the reason, Sansa went to her brother’s room after disowning the woman that gave birth to them. It wasn’t necessarily for comfort, more so justification. Sansa gazed down at the unconscious form of her brother. Maester Luwin wanted to keep the young lord asleep until he was certain that there would be as little pain as possible.

Sansa needed to reassure herself that she would not make the same cruel mistakes as her mother. The woman slightly marveled at the clean white cloth wrapped around the hole where her brother’s right eyes used to reside. When they brought him in that night, crude rags had been tied around his head and blood was pouring out from beneath them. Even though he had gone unconscious from the blood loss, Robb still groaned from the dreadful pain that must have dominated his senses.

She may have to leave soon, but Sansa would never abandon her family. Robb would always be within her thoughts and he would always have her support. Sansa would not become her mother.

For the second time in an hour, Sansa nearly jumped and shrieked at an unexpected noise. This time, it was the door opening to reveal a severely weathered man. What were once fine riding leathers and furs now appeared torn and stained from top to bottom. The smell radiating off him was noxious and would only be removed by a thorough cleaning of the skin and the burning of the clothes.

Yet, Sansa did not care as she jumped into his open arms, this was her father.

“Oh, sweet girl.” Ned immediately soothed his daughter, “I can’t apologize enough for what you must have endured.”

Now, Sansa felt tears threaten to spill. This is how a parent should behave when their children are in jeopardy. The lousy clothes and hygiene were proof of Ned’s self sacrifice. How their father had immediately departed from whatever Keep he heard the news in to make North with all haste. Sansa didn’t even mind the irritating bristles from his beard that scratched her neck when he held her close, it was a reminder of his devotion. 

Ned planted a kiss on his daughter’s forehead, before letting out a small groan of anguish at the sight of his son. The father staggered forward and held his son’s hand in his own, “It was the Wildlings that did this?”

Sansa sat on the other side of Robb’s bed and prepared herself for a long conversation. The redhead began, “They are partially responsible. There was a conspiracy orchestrated by Torrhen Karstark that involved the Wildlings and the Second Sons.”

“Gods.” Ned clearly regretted his decision to leave the North, “We’ve lost so much in such a short time.”

Sansa couldn’t help herself, she responded, “You’ve gained a son.”

“Tell me everything.” Ned commanded, and Sansa started from the day he left.

(-)

Ravens sent and younger brother left to his scheming, Jaime had another important meeting to attend. Strolling through the castle with an easy grin and cheery whistle, it wasn’t long before Jaime arrived at his destination. Still holding a long cloth covered bundle in one hand, Jaime gave the wooden door a swift knock and entered before there was any response.

“Get out!” Arya Stark screamed, as soon as the door fully opened.

Jaime paid the girl no mind and closed the door behind him. Arya scowled at the man from her bed, as she watched Jaime move to the shuttered windows and open them to let in a torrent of sunlight.

“Much better.” The knight remarked, before moving over to the Stark daughter’s dresser and began opening random drawers.

Feeling her rage grow at being ignored and having her privacy invaded, Arya yelled, “Hey!”

Still, Jaime didn’t respond to her protests and merely threw a plain shirt and set of trousers at the teenage girl lying under her covers.

“It’s time you got some fresh air.” Jaime announced, while Arya looked down at the offered clothes with disdain.

The younger Stark daughter gave him a most eloquent reply, “Go fuck yourself, Lannister.”

The Kingslayer sighed when the girl threw her head under the covers. Dragging a wooden chair to the side of her bed, Jaime made himself comfortable. Several minutes passed with Jaime nonchalantly whistling in the chair and Arya remaining under the covers.

It was after Jaime’s third rendition of the Rains of Castamere that Arya finally threw off the covers and demanded, “What the hell do you want?”

“Truly?” Jaime asked, and elaborated before Arya could give an answer, “They make this amazing shrimp cocktail in Lannisport that I haven’t tasted in years. It’ll still probably be a few months before I get to partake once more, but in the meantime I’ll settle for you talking to me.”

Arya scoffed, “What’s there to talk about?”

The knight leaned back and irritatingly began to make a list, “Well there’s the weather, our favorite philosophers, the best breed of horses, your kidnapping, or whether Dornish Red is superior to Arbour Gold.”

“Arbour Gold is divine. Dornish Red is piss.” Arya muttered, “Happy? Could you act like the red wine now and piss off?”

Jaime shook his head, “Not that easily I’m afraid. You’ve forgotten that I’ve played guard to two kings for fifteen years, my patience is tragically well honed.”

“Stubbornness more like.” Arya grunted. She was growing more and more pissed that Jaime had a kind smile plastered on his face throughout this entire conversation.

The girl began to snarl, “Why are you smiling?”

That only increased the size of the knight’s grin and the depths of Arya’s ire. Jaime took his time to respond, “I’ve received the most wonderful offer last night. I confess that I haven’t felt this happy in quite some time, perhaps ever.”

“Then why have you come here?” The still distrustful girl questioned.

“Because I want to share my joy in the company of those I like.” Was Jaime’s simple explanation.

Arya let out a self-deprecating laugh, “Those you like? You must have gotten lost.”

“Why would that be?” The Lannister innocently questioned.

Arya snapped, “There is nothing to like about me! Not after what I’ve done!”

The knight’s smile vanished and he leaned in, “What you’ve done? Did you invite the Wildlings over the Wall?”

“No.”

“Did you contract the Second Sons to attack your homeland?”

“No.”

“Did you blind your brother?”

“No!”

“Then I’m at a loss.” Jaime mockingly confessed and moved a hand through his hair, “What could you have done that would lead to this outcome?”

“He did it for me!” Arya screamed back and slammed her fists on the bedding, “How many people died because Torrhen and I wanted to run away together?”

“You’re blaming yourself for the actions of another person.” The Lannister droned out and made sure that his tone indicated how stupid of a sentiment that is.

Arya gritted her teeth and Jaime thought that she might lunge at him, but the girl seemed to deflate after a moment. The Stark sunk back onto her pillow and desperately clutched her head.

“I won’t pretend to understand what you’re going through, little wolf.” Jaime uttered in the same soothing voice that he had used on a young Tyrion, “But I understand pain and regret to a great degree.”

Slowly Arya removed her hands and looked at the Kingslayer, as he continued, “For a long time it will be the first thing you think about when you wake up and the last thing you think about before you fall asleep. At times you may think that it will drive you mad. I certainly did. But, eventually, it will be the second thing that greets you in the morning. Over time it could turn into the third or even fourth thing that you dwell on before sleeping. If you’re lucky, you could go entire days or weeks without it even entering your mind.”

Arya was fully entranced to Jaime’s soft yet steady voice, and she didn’t flinch when he leaned in to offer more counsel, “But you will never forget. And you shouldn’t. Do you know why?”

The girl shook her head and her eyes pleaded for an answer.

“Because even though it is not your fault, you must strive to make sure that it never happens again. You were powerless now, but in the future you could stop it or lessen its effects. You may still fail, but you will fail knowing that you tried.”

“Why tell me this?” The Stark girl asked, as her mind poured over the knight’s advice.

Jaime gave her that same small smile, and unwrapped the bindle to show her Needle. As Arya took a tentative grasp of the sword, Jaime gave her an answer, “Because I want to help do just that. I want to give you the ability to try.”

The girl swallowed and questioned, “How?”

“I’d like you to come with me to Casterly Rock.” The Lannister explained, “There I can teach you everything I know about the sword. You could enter my service as a warrior or become a noble woman in the Western court. One day you could marry a Western noble or be rewarded your own lands and title for your service. Your path should be yours to decide.”

Arya was quiet for a few moments, before she nodded her head, “I think I’d like being able to decide my path.”

“Good.” Jaime encouraged her with a gentle smile, before leaning in to whisper mischievously, “Because I’ll need all the help I can get convincing your father.”

That actually got the girl to laugh and Jaime gleefully joined her.

(-)

“Lannister.” Jaime had nearly shit himself when he heard that deep Northern baritone that could only belong to one man.

The knight had just left Arya’s chamber after hours of sharing stories about the Kingsguard with a promise that they would practice her swordfighting the next day when he was ambushed.

The blonde Southerner hid his taking a deep breath and turned to face the father of the woman he would marry.

“Lord Stark.” Gods, Jaime was tempted to address him as ‘Good Father,’ but the severe look on the older man’s face cautioned him against that tactic.

Ned didn’t break eye contact as he approached the taller man and Jaime was slightly reminded of his own father in that moment.

Face to face, Lord Stark commanded, “Walk with me, Kingslayer.”

Jaime motioned with one arm that his host should take the lead and fell in step with the Lord Paramount of the North. It was unsettlingly quiet as they walked, Jaime made several attempts to inquire on Eddard’s travels and time with the king, but he was met with only grunts or single word answers. Lord Stark led the Lannister to the high walls of Winterfell and seemed to be taking Jaime to a secluded section of the fortifications.

‘The honorable Ned Stark surely wouldn’t plot to throw a man off his battlements, right?’ Jaime was asking himself, as he did his best not to shiver at a crisp gust of Northern air.

After some time, Eddard stopped and turned to the Lannister with a cold gaze. Jaime expected all kinds of curses and accusations to erupt from the man, but the Lord of the North surprised him with, “You’ve done a great service for my House and my family.”

Caught off guard, Jaime could only bow his head and reply, “I’ve only fulfilled my duties as a Kingsguard and the oath I made to you.”

“Some would say your actions have gone beyond your normal duties and oaths.” The older man replied and Jaime was shocked to hear what might have been a double entendre in the Northern lord’s statement.

Still facing away from him, Ned finally addressed the elephant in the room, or rather, on the walls, “Do you think these actions have made you worthy enough to marry my daughter?”

“Never.” Jaime didn’t need to even think of his response, before answering, “There could never be a high enough qualification or standard that would come even close to making one worthy of her.”

“Yet, she asks my permission to allow this match all the same.” Ned seemed to say more to himself than the other man.

Curious, Jaime stood beside the Northerner, “Do you disagree with this match?”

“That is a difficult question.” Ned Stark didn’t try to hide how torn his mind must be, “She explained it to me as if it were a business proposal. And she’s right. It is the correct political move that would alleviate the current troubles that have placed my House in jeopardy. An alliance with the West, along with our ties to the Vale and the Riverlands might make for the most powerful bloc in the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Although,” And now Ned Stark made sure that he didn’t hide his contempt, “the price I must pay is selling my daughter to a Southerner that is devoid of anything resembling nobility and honor.”

Insulted, and not willing to enter a relationship where he would constantly be at odds with the father of his potential wife, Jaime challenged the man, “Honor. Nobility. Righteousness. That is the significant difference between the two of us, is it not? You detest me for the lack of these traits, yet I find it liberating.”

The incredulous look that the stiff features of Ned Stark morphed into encouraged Jaime to continue, “Unlike you Northerners, I don't claim to know what true nobility is. I can tell you it’s not standing guard outside a door, while a Mad King repeatedly rapes his wife. I’m constantly searching for something that has true meaning, and there are times where I certainly do put myself before others on this quest. I don’t allow myself to be bound by suffocating moral codes that tie my hands in all my decisions.”

“You think my daughter would be happy with a man of such low moral character?” Ned grunted, and Jaime noticed that he clenched his teeth much in the same way as his younger daughter.

“She did propose the match.” Jaime took great enjoyment out of reminding the older man that.

It only seemed to further enrage the Northern lord, “Are you implying that my daughter is lacking in morals?”

“Not at all.” The Lannister enjoyed taunting the man, but he would never tell lies about Sansa, so he explained, “I think she is the best of both of us. The perfect middle ground if you would. She’s not so enwrapped in your Northern severity to think outside the box, but she doesn’t allow this freedom to corrupt her sensibilities.”

Jaime forgot where he was for a moment and gazed toward the setting sun with a small grin, “I hope I can learn from her.”

Ned stared at the golden knight in stunned silence for a moment, before Jaime continued, “Lord Stark, I know that I will never be worthy of your daughter. She is the most amazing person I have ever met. I found myself ridiculously happy when she proposed the idea of marriage to me. I know you don’t think much of my word, but I swear that I will never harm your daughter.”

The Northerner and the Westerner shared an intense stare for over a minute, which made Jaime subtly steady his footing in case the father wanted to make an attempt at shoving him over the side of the wall. 

Instead, Ned Stark sighed and placed a hand on Jaime’s shoulder, “I may not be as politically savvy as your Southern den of vipers,” the Northern lord paused to lean in to continue in a whisper, “but I will kill you if you squander the trust my daughter has placed in you.”

Jaime was stunned, as Ned leaned back and slammed a bit of parchment into his hands.

“We leave for Riverrun in two days.” Ned announced as he left Jaime to stand alone on the wall.

The Lannister looked down and realized that the parchment was a letter. Unfolding it, Jaime read:

Lord Stark,

I have convinced the King to host a tourney at Riverrun in a celebration of your being made Hand of the King and my son being removed from the Kingsguard. While there, I would like to speak to you about the specifics of our children’s wedding. It will, of course, take place at Casterly Rock and I advise that we have it soon after the completion of the tourney.

Sincerely,  
Lord Tywin Lannister

Jaime could stand there for a moment, before he shook his head.

“Gods, that man works fast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go! Slightly shorter chapter than usual, but I hope the fluff and set up for future plot points makes up for that. It’s not really realistic that even someone like Tywin could have made plans that quickly, but for the sake of moving the story along, and getting us the hell out of the North, I went with it. Also, I have been working on that modern politics fic and I would expect the first chapter to be released sometime in the near future! Thanks again!


End file.
